


a fly on the wall

by ADreamingSongbird



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Decopunk, Alternate Universe - Scientists, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Gen, Government Conspiracy, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reverse Amnesia, Slow Burn, Trans Katsuki Yuuri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-05-14 02:00:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 37,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14760479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADreamingSongbird/pseuds/ADreamingSongbird
Summary: "Welcome to Dawnsmere, the City of a Thousand Dreams!"Yuuri Katsuki is one of the technicolor city's most eminent scientists, working on a project related to the origins of the silver plague that devastated the country almost twenty years ago. He has two dogs and a good friend and some darling students in his lab - all in all, a life to be envied - so why does he always feel like something is missing?What he doesn't know is this: Dawnsmere's glitter and glamour and gold all serve to hide a great and terrible secret.What he doesn't know is this: Somethingismissing.What he doesn't know is this: Viktor Katsuki-Nikiforov desperately, painfully wants to come home.(Collab with art byRiki.)





	1. ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO HELLO HELLO WELCOME! This fic is largely inspired by the aesthetic of the video game Transistor. You don't need to have played it or anything to read, but it might enrich the experience!

_**Part One: When The World Tore Us Apart** _

* * *

 

Soon.

It’ll be his first breath of fresh air in—weeks? No, at least a month, he’s sure of it. It’s been long enough that he’s lost count of the days as each hour blurred into the next, artificial lights and no windows telling him nothing of the state of the outside world. Funny, that; outside, the city sparkles with glamour and splendor as the elite party and repaint the sky every night, but for him, in here, there is nothing but starkness, and emptiness, and _silence._

But not for much longer.

His head thunks back against the cool metal wall behind him, and he blows out a breath, weary but determined. Thumb rubbing over the gold band on his finger, he closes his eyes and thinks of _home,_ the only thing that’s been keeping him steady ever since they took him. The loneliness is a physical ache in his chest, ever more poignant every time he curls up to sleep in his cell alone.

Soon, they’ll send one of their representatives, smiling and sleazy, to come to talk to him again, to demand to know how he discovered what he did, to cajole and ask if he’ll join them, work with them, work _for_ them. They’ve been reminding him for weeks (months?) that if he agrees, they’ll let him go home, that it’s just that easy…

…As if he’d ever work for _them._ Not after what he found out. Not after what they did.

But therein lies his hope. He’s been acting complacent, letting them think they’re wearing him down. They’re starting to lower their guard around him, and in another week or two, he’s pretty sure they’re going to parade him around to all the leaders, to say _look at our prize, we finally turned the scientist._ Once they take him out of this cell…

He lets his daydreams skip ahead, indulgent and plaintive, and thinks about running his hands through dark, silky hair and of brushing kiss after kiss to gentle, chapped lips. Thinks about holding his lover and being held in return, thinks about the touch of his fingers and the sound of his laughter and the warmth of his gaze. Thinks about the smell of home.

 _I love you,_ he thinks, desperately. _I won’t let them hurt you, darling, I won’t, I won’t, I won’t. I love you, I love you, I love you, and I’m coming home soon. I love you. I’ll keep you safe. I love you._

_Just wait for me. Just a little longer._

.

.

.

_Beep-beep._

_Beep-beep._

_Beep-beep._

_Beep—_

“Urgh,” Yuuri groans, smacking his hand at the general direction of the alarm blaring for his attention. It’s disgustingly early, as just about every work morning is, and he’s cold and he doesn’t wanna get up. Another five minutes never hurt anybody, and his bed is big enough that he can curl up in the middle and snuggle deep down into it.

His blankets are very soft, and the air outside of them is cold, which he’s not a fan of. They’re good blankets—kind of fancy, too, the expensive kind that feel luxuriously heavy and cozy to curl into. He doesn’t remember when he bought them, but whenever Past Yuuri did that, it was a good investment. They’re _great_ blankets.

Really great blankets.

Mmmm…

_Beep-beep._

Blearily, he opens his eyes and stares impassively at the ceiling. “Oh, _fuck_ you.”

Morning is a monotonous routine, just like it is every day—Yuuri flicks at the wall panels, puts on some music in his big, empty apartment, and shuffles through the motions of getting ready. Vicchan, bless his fluffy little heart, bounds around his feet and pulls a sock out from under the bed as Yuuri brushes his teeth, and he manages a tired chuckle as he pats his soft head. Makkachin is a sleepy lump, no more of a morning person than Yuuri is, and he pets her side as he heads to the kitchen.

Breakfast passes in a boring montage of toast and jam and tea; he stares down into his cup and wonders idly whether it’d be any good if he stirred jam into it.

Eventually, the dogs are fed and walked and petted some more, and Yuuri gets dressed for the day, pulling on a nice button-down shirt, well-pressed pants, and a lacy cardigan. That last one won’t do in the lab; its sleeves trail too much to be practical, but it _is_ pretty, and he has to meet Sonya… Sonya… Sonya Whatshername for breakfast.

He should probably know her name. She’s from the Aetherium, and apparently she’s interested in his research. He really, definitely ought to know her name.

Well, it’s most likely in his phone somewhere (if it’s not, he’s just going to die and also bid farewell to all his funding from now til the end of eternity, probably), so… hopefully, it won’t be the end of the world even if he can’t remember.

Though that’s definitely going to bug him, he thinks to himself as he huffs at the mirror, combing his hair. Sonya… Almond? No, that’s silly. Sonya… Sonya…

Almandine! Sonya Almandine. _That’s_ her name. Phew.

The sky is a cotton-candy pink today, dotted with a few scattered, puffy blue clouds. It’s very pastel—it matches the springtime weather, he supposes, and as he parks his car and walks to the café where he and Sonya agreed to meet, he notices the flowers blossoming along the path. It’s a beautiful day, and its color scheme is lovely. Whoever came up with it did well.

He scans the crowd and almost misses Sonya by looking for a shock of purple hair. He would miss her entirely if she didn’t spot him first, waving and rising to her feet with a wide smile.

“Dr. Katsuki! Good morning! I’m glad you could make it!”

She holds out her hand, and Yuuri shakes it firmly as he takes his seat opposite her. Her hair is dark, reddish-maroon now, cut differently than it was last time he saw her, but it suits her. She seems to be doing well. “Good morning, Sonya. How was your weekend?”

“Oh, it was fine,” she says, laughing, and tosses her head. “I went to the seaside with a few colleagues and we had a barbeque! How was yours?”

Yuuri laughs a little awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ah, I didn’t do much… I mostly just played with my dogs and wrote a proposal. I don’t have much of an exciting life, I’m afraid.”

Sonya smiles again, so cheerful he’s a little overwhelmed. “Your dogs are adorable. And don’t worry, Dr. Katsuki! Excitement isn’t a requisite to contentment. If you like your life as it is, then let it be! But if you ever want something more, well…”

The holoscreen hovering above the table lights up and beeps insistently, and Yuuri suddenly realizes he forgot to flip through the menu and order. “Oh—sorry,” he says, adjusting his glasses and trying not to berate himself for being so socially inept. She’s from the _Aetherium!_ Can’t he pretend he’s a functional human being for thirty minutes? “Let me just, ah…”

“Take your time, take your time,” Sonya assures, sitting back with an indulgent smile. “I’m in no rush, Yuuri—may I call you Yuuri?”

“Ah, yes,” Yuuri says, bobbing his head as he flicks through the screen’s tabs and finally settles on a vanilla latte and a bagel with cream cheese, nothing fancy. Frankly, having breakfast with a near-stranger has his stomach twisted into too many knots for him to be hungry. “Yes, that’s fine.”

“Oh, good!” Sonya flashes him another bright smile. She’s quiet until he finishes his transaction and flicks the holoscreen away, then laces her fingers together and leans forward. Yuuri adjusts his glasses again. “Like I was saying… if you’re ever bored, or if you want something to add a little more _excitement_ to your life and your job, well…”

“Excitement?” Yuuri echoes dolefully. “I’m not really the type for an exciting life, I think.”

Something about that statement must be funny, because Sonya just laughs again. “Well—I’m not talking about _spy missions_ , or something ridiculous like that! I’m talking more like, well, important things!”

Yuuri bristles slightly. He hasn’t spent years of his life studying and then working in a laboratory to get his work brushed off as _unimportant._ Sure, maybe he himself isn’t the most impressive person, but what he _does?_ That’s vital. “With all due respect, Sonya, I find that my research _is_ important, actually.”

Sonya’s eyes go wide before she waves a hand, backtracking quickly. “Oh, no, you’re absolutely right! My apologies, that was awful phrasing on my part. Forgive me, Yuuri. Your work has been groundbreaking, and I’m sure everyone in Dawnsmere is just as impressed as I am!”

Off-balance now, Yuuri smiles awkwardly. Is it just him, or was that a very blatant, simpering attempt to get back into his good graces? The idea of being buttered up makes him wary. Does she want something from him? What would the Aetherium want from _him?_ Or is he just reading too much into things because he sucks at being a human being? God, why is he so bad at maintaining conversations like a person?

He clears his throat, keeping his racing thoughts to himself, and just inclines his head as graciously as he can. “Thank you. You’re too kind.”

Sonya shakes her head and chuckles. “Why, not at all, Yuuri! The Council of Daybreak all think very highly of you and everything you’ve done for Dawnsmere! That’s no small feat. Your paper on the origins of the silver plague was all anyone at work was talking about for days when you published it!”

Pushing his glasses up, again, which he probably needs to stop doing because it probably looks ridiculous and like an obvious nervous tell, Yuuri blinks at her twice. “Ah… thank you? The silver plague paper was based in a lot of the research the families of the Council members themselves did years ago, so I can’t really say I’m surprised it caught their attention…”

The members of the original Council of Daybreak, the founders of the Aetherium, were the ones who came up with a functional vaccine for the silver plague a few decades ago, right around when Yuuri was born. Of course their descendants, the new Council, would be interested in the follow-up research that led to not only a vaccine but also a _cure,_ even if they are all legislators now rather than scientists. That’s a good thing, too, right? Having scientifically literate people run Dawnsmere is better than letting the city fall into some kind of corrupt and harsh state.

“You sell yourself short,” Sonya says, placing her hand over his, but instinctively he draws back. He doesn’t know her well enough for that, and being touched by someone he doesn’t know is—it’s _weird._ She smiles awkwardly and withdraws, pretending it didn’t happen, and continues breezily. “The Council is _very_ impressed by your creativity and your work ethic, you know. So is the Aetherium in general.”

Yuuri frowns in mild consternation, anxiety tugging at his chest and whispering _don’t misstep, if the Aetherium is watching you. Don’t mess up in front of them._ “I… is that so?”

Sonya grins like the cat with the cream. “Why, yes! That’s the reason I asked you to join me for breakfast, Yuuri!”

She’s interrupted, again, this time by a hovertray that floats up to their table with their coffee and breakfasts. Yuuri is grateful for something to focus on that isn’t this awkward conversation and takes his quickly, blowing on the foam.

“Because… the Aetherium liked the silver plague paper?” he asks after a moment, prodding. What does the Aetherium want with him because of that? _Please_ not another award—and he feels selfish and stupid for thinking that, but awards ceremonies terrify him. He has to speak in front of a crowd to accept the commemorative plaque or whatever it is, and he’s already received some recognition for his work a few years ago. Can’t he just hide and not have to do that again?

Unless it’s like the ceremony for the Dawnsmere Medal of Peace, which apparently was such a disaster that all his memories of it are a haze. If he doesn’t have to remember how many times he stuttered or how clammy his palms were every time he shook hands with someone, maybe he can handle it. But that’s the _only_ way.

“They did,” Sonya says, continuing to grin over the rim of her mug. “So much so that I was asked whether you’d like to accept a position working in the top secret division of our research and development team.”

The mug nearly falls from his hand, clinking hard against the tabletop as he puts it down in shock. Coffee sloshes over the side onto his hand, and he hisses, cheeks burning with shame as he grabs a napkin and dabs it clean, ducking his head. _Idiot, idiot, idiot_ —a position working for the Aetherium? On top secret projects…?

“Oh, dear.” Sonya purses her lips and takes a second napkin to blot the coffee from the table. “Sorry, I should’ve waited til you put it down to drop a bombshell like that on you, huh?”

“It’s fine,” Yuuri assures, a little dazed. “Um. The research department of the Aetherium. Wow. I—I’m honored, really, uh, wow, I’m… wow.”

Sonya tosses her head and laughs again, amused and delighted like she’s watching a child unwrap a new toy. “Take your time to take it in, don’t worry. But yes, it’s real, and no, I’m not kidding! We really could use someone like you on our research and development team.”

“Wow,” Yuuri repeats, staring down into his latte. “I… um… don’t know what to say!”

On the one hand: that’s really, really prestigious. Working for the Aetherium? He never would’ve _dreamed_ of that when he was younger, in school and pretty sure the workload would kill him. Hell, he never would’ve thought it was a real possibility even after he got his own office and lab and students.

But on the other… he has students. Yuri Plisetsky, Mila Babicheva, and Kenjirou Minami. They’re working on research with him right now, and he can’t just abandon them because of a chance offered at breakfast! That would be unfair and—

Actually. That’s a question he ought to ask.

“How long do I have to consider the offer?” he inquires, finally looking up. “I, um… I’d love to consider it, I mean—ah, that is, I’m honored and I am definitely considering it and I’d love to take it—but I do have things I’d need to take care of before I could commit, so, um… is there a time frame, or…?”

“Absolutely!” Sonya beams and nods. “We understand it’s not a snap decision. Transitions take time! How about we do breakfast again next Monday and you can let me know if you still need time then?”

A week still seems like a short time to decide whether he wants to uproot his current life, but he doesn’t want to make a scene, so he just nods. “That sounds fine.”

“Great!” Sonya flashes another wide smile at him, and Yuuri resists the urge to just take his coffee and his bagel to-go so he can eat them on the way to his lab and _leave_ already. It’s not her fault he just finds her endless cheer a little tiresome. She’s just doing her job. Which apparently includes recruiting him. “The Aetherium will be so happy to have you, Yuuri. It’s people like you that make Dawnsmere what we call it: the City of a Thousand Dreams!”

Yuuri wrinkles his nose as he spreads cream cheese on his bagel. “I’ve never liked that name, to be honest.”

Sonya’s smile falters into a look of refeshingly genuine surprise. “Really? Why not?”

“City of a thousand dreams?” Yuuri shakes his head. “Millions of people live here. It just seems kind of unfair.”

She blinks, and then that bright smile comes back as she shakes her head and laughs, again. Is it normal to laugh so much during a single conversation, and he’s just aloof and reticent? Or is she the one being overly gregarious? He feels like he’s talking to a salesman rather than an acquaintance. “Ah, Yuuri, it’s just a saying! Don’t think so hard on it.”

“I’m a scientist,” Yuuri says, a little bit flatly. “Thinking hard is what I _do._ ”

That seems to get her off guard again, but she backtracks, smiles widely, and continues as if he hadn’t spoken. “So, Yuuri! Work aside, how have you been? I don’t think we’ve spoken in a while! Not since the banquet at city hall last month, right?”

“Right,” Yuuri nods. That banquet was extremely awkward, and he clung to Chris’s side the entire night, using his plus-one’s charm to cover up for his own lack of social grace. That’s the only reason Sonya knows about Makkachin and Vicchan—when cornered while Chris was in the restroom, he retreated to the only safe topic he could think of: dogs. “Last month.”

“Yes, that’s what I thought. So, how have you been? Still dating the handsome fellow you were at the banquet with?”

Startled, Yuuri shakes his head quickly. “Oh—no, no, Chris and I aren’t dating! We’re just close friends. I’m not—I’m not seeing anyone.”

Her eyebrows rise, and then she gives him a clear once-over, her eyes sweeping up and down. “ _Really?”_

Self-conscious, Yuuri shakes his head again. “Ah… no? Should I be…?”

Sonya sips her coffee, sets it down, and cocks her head. “Oh, well, it just surprised me! I would’ve thought everyone in Dawnsmere would want a piece of our most eminent scientist, especially when he’s both smart _and_ handsome,” and she winks.

He doesn’t know what, but something in him is suddenly deeply, profoundly uncomfortable, and he has to fight down the urge to squirm in his seat. “I, ah… well, I guess I haven’t met the right person yet.”

There’s a glint of something in her eyes that’s gone too fast for him to catch. “Haven’t you?” she asks, voice soft. “That’s a shame. Ah well… I’m sure they’re out there, somewhere. Just keep looking!”

* * *

“You’re _late,”_ Yuri huffs, the second the elevator door opens and he steps out onto his floor. “I’ve been here for half an hour already, Katsudon—”

Yuuri quashes his complaints immediately by shoving a box into his arms and carrying a tray of coffees to the side table. “I brought you donuts and coffee! Kenjirou, I got you some too!”

That shuts Yuri up, Yuuri notices, and stifles a laugh as his student immediately whips the box open and gazes down as if he’s just discovered the secret to life itself. It’s just a dozen, so they each get three apiece when split four ways (he’ll probably have to hide the last three from Yuri and Kenjirou to keep them from eating Mila’s share, until she shows up), but he still seems transfixed by this newfound treasure.

“I take it I’m forgiven for being late,” Yuuri says, amused, as Kenjirou sticks his head out of the lab and his face lights up. “Good morning, Kenjirou!”

“Good morning, Yuuri!” Kenjirou chirps. “Oh, _wow_ , donuts—thank you so much!”

He’s already almost bouncing on his feet, Yuuri notes. Maybe getting him coffee was a bad idea…

Oh well, this is a science lab. They aren’t entirely known for _only_ good ideas.

Ugh, that brings him back to the question Sonya posed over breakfast, before he fled on the pretext of an upcoming meeting. God, that had him so uncomfortable he had to make a diversion to a park bench to breathe for a few minutes before going back towards campus. The donuts were just… along the way.

Does he want to join the Aetherium?

It’s very prestigious, and there would be great job security, and he’d be working directly for the Council of Daybreak, which means his research would be directly benefitting Dawnsmere and all the people here. And if he got paid more, he could also donate more to charities and he wouldn’t need to worry about getting as many grants. In fact, he would probably _never_ have to worry about that, because he’d be funded directly by the Council. And…

And every time he thinks about it, he feels like he’s making excuses.

He doesn’t really want to join the Aetherium.

“Oi, Katsudon,” Yuri says, jerking him back into reality. “So while you were out frolicking through the flowers or sleeping in or—”

“Or getting you snacks,” Yuuri suggests.

“—or getting us snacks, whatever,” Yuri agrees, “Kenjirou and I did the forty-eight hour checks on the cultures. The silver plague one reacted funny to the A stain, but not the B one, which is weird, right?”

“Funny?” Yuuri echoes.

“Mmm, fewwuh shrong poshitib,” Kenjirou says through a mouthful of donuts. Yuuri gives him a quizzical, amused look.

“The donuts aren’t going anywhere, Kenjirou,” he reminds his student, while Yuri openly snorts. “You don’t need to eat them before they escape, I promise.”

Kenjirou swallows, takes a very large gulp of coffee, and grins sheepishly. “Sorry, Yuuri! I meant they had a weirdly strong positive when we did the A stain, and a normal negative on B. So we were talking and we think maybe the plates got contaminated? Because that shouldn’t have happened, right?”

“Right,” Yuuri agrees, frowning. “What about the nonvirulent strain? Did it also react more strongly than expected?”

“No,” Yuri and Kenjirou say at the same time.

“It was just a weak positive,” Yuri adds. “Like we expected.”

“Hmm. We’ll have to attempt to replicate the results,” Yuuri says, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “If it was a surprisingly strong positive on both _argentium_ plates, and if it comes out again, we might have to consider whether the stock got contaminated. It’s either that, or the virulent strain mutates faster than we realized was possible, even while on ice.” He frowns. “Let’s hope it’s the latter. We’ll have to get a new stock solution otherwise. That’ll be a pain.”

Yuri sighs. “Yeah.”

Kenjirou sighs, too. “These are really good donuts…”

They finish eating, and Yuuri sets the last three donuts and one of the coffee cups aside for Mila. She said she’d be coming in around noon today, thanks to some late-night obligations yesterday, which Yuri keeps muttering was just a party or something, but Yuuri won’t begrudge her a social life. Especially given how much he lacks one himself.

Soon, Kenjirou and Yuri get back to the lab, and Yuuri directs them in replicating the experiment they’ve been running, this time to check if their stock solution of the silver plague bacteria has been contaminated. It’s a process that involves a decontamination chamber that they all have to go through, masks, and several sets of gloves—regulations on work involving _argentium_ are stringent, and only high-clearance labs like Yuuri’s are even allowed to order stocks of it at all.

That’s the biggest reason he’s in such high demand, and why he gets the pick of all the students he could hope to have as apprentices. Kenjirou, Yuri, and Mila are all highly qualified, and he’s very proud of them. The three of them have been working with him for a couple of years now, and their names are listed next to his on the paper that caught the Aetherium’s attention.

Oh, that’s a thought. What if he tells Sonya he’ll consider it only if he can bring his students too?

No, they’ll probably shoot him down. And maybe rescind the offer because he’s too presumptuous. It might be rude, when receiving their invitation is such a big deal in and of itself.

Maybe if he tells them that his acceptance hinges on his students? Leaving them is the last thing he wants to do, and right now, well… he doesn’t want to _brag,_ but he is kind of, um. The only scientist of his caliber in Dawnsmere. Chris is a brilliant engineer, but Yuuri is the only immunobiologist with clearance to work with _M. argentium_ that isn’t already working for the Aetherium. So if he walks away from them, what will they do? They might have to abandon their projects, and at the very least they’d need to be transferred to new mentors, and…

No, he can’t take the job. He’ll have to thank Sonya profusely for the opportunity, but decline as politely as he can. Maybe he’ll have Chris help him figure out how to word it to make sure he doesn’t offend her or sound dismissive. Yeah, he should probably ask Chris, because he’s bad at talking to humans. Yes, okay. That’s his plan.

Shaking his head, he reminds himself that he’s at his lab right now, doing research right now. He can worry about all this later.

“Yuuri?” Kenjirou pipes up, sitting at his lab bench. “Can you come look over this draft of the proposal for me? I think it’s good, but I’m a little over word count…”

“Yeah, of course!” Yuuri walks to his desk, leans over, and breathes in the familiar scent of his lab. It’s his lab, where he belongs, and he’s not leaving anytime soon.

* * *

“That was terrible,” Chris drawls, shaking his head as the end credits scroll lazily up the holoscreen. “Why did we watch it to the end?”

“To see if the ending was going to be as bad as the beginning,” Yuuri sighs, dropping his head into his hands. It really _was_ a terrible movie, though at least it was so bad it was kind of funny, once he stopped being embarrassed on behalf of the characters. “Our logic might have been a little flawed, in retrospect.”

Chris sighs back and twirls the stem of his wineglass between two fingers, amused. “Perhaps, but our hypothesis was right. It wasn’t as bad.”

Yuuri groans. “It was _worse.”_

Makkachin ambles up to him and lays her head on his knee, her nails clicking against the synthwood floor, and he coos as he scratches behind her ears. She’s a very affectionate, very good girl, and she closes her eyes and rumbles deep in her chest as he rubs her forehead and fluffs her ears. He loves this dog.

Chris looks at him, smiling. “Where’s the little one gone off to?”

“I think he’s asleep.” Yuuri glances toward his bedroom door. “He likes to sleep on my pillow whenever I’m not using it. It’s why having such a big bed works out for me. There’s room for him to do that even when I _am_ using it. I just sometimes have to fight him for a specific pillow.”

“Can’t you just leave him the pillow and use a different one?”

Yuuri huffs out a laugh as Makkachin hops onto the couch and plops down at his side, laying against his leg. “No. If I abandon a pillow, he does too. He always wants the specific one I’m using.”

Chris laughs merrily. “Ah, the joys of having a dog.”

“Don’t tell me Adelaide doesn’t have her own quirks,” Yuuri snorts. Chris’s cat is one of the most opinionated cats he’s ever met, in sharp contrast to Yuri’s adorable little affection-monster Potya. Both times Yuuri has met his student’s cat, she’s started purring the second he laid a hand on her. Adelaide, on the other hand, tries to take his arm off if he even _thinks_ about touching her.

“Touché.” Chris tips his head back to finish off the last of his wine, reclining against the armrest, and Yuuri considers him in the low light. They get together weekly, at the least, to have dinner together and watch movies or play games or whatever it may be, after dance classes. Some people might call it a date. _Is_ this a date? He’s never thought of what they do as dating, and he doesn’t think Chris has either, but…

He thinks back to what he talked about, briefly, with Sonya. His apartment is big. Big enough to get a little lonely, in the evenings and nights, whenever the dogs aren’t taking advantage of all the space and when he curls into his bed and holds them until he falls asleep. Sometimes he wonders why he got a place this large when it’s just _him,_ though he knows that’s just silly—it’s not too horribly expensive, it’s airy and nice, and it’s pretty close to his lab. Of course it’s a good place to have.

Even if it does get a little too quiet for his liking.

(But that’s not something that would change even if he did downsize.)

“Well,” Chris says, as the credits keep rolling and the music keeps playing, “as far as tragic romances go, that was awful, but as far as comedies… I think they did a decent job! Don’t you?”

Yuuri snorts and dismisses those thoughts, trying to stick to the present. “Oh, absolutely. The part where they held hands in the rain because of the broken umbrella? Such a tearjerker. Period romances truly are something else.”

Chris cackles and sets his wineglass aside. Makkachin stretches out between them until she drapes one leg over his knee and yawns, and Yuuri rubs her belly fondly. She’s such a good girl, oh yes she is, such a good good girl! His best girl, isn’t she, oh yes, that’s right!

“Hey,” Yuuri says, biting his lip. “Could I ask for some advice?”

Chris turns to him and raises an eyebrow. “Of course, mon ami. What’s troubling you?”

“I kind of want to do something that might be a bit stupid,” Yuuri begins, holding Makkachin’s paw for support. She snuffles and pats his hand with her other one, and he can’t help but smile at her. “And I need to know if it’s really stupid and I shouldn’t do it, or if it’s just the right amount of stupid to fit in with the rest of my life.”

Chris laughs and nods. “Alright, go on. What’s your plan?”

Yuuri wavers for a heartbeat. Two. “Remember last month, at the banquet we went to, when that lady cornered me and you had to rescue me because I was babbling about dogs?”

Chris nods again, lips twitching, and Yuuri leans over and playfully swats his shoulder. It wasn’t funny then, and it’s not a laughing matter! He’s terrible at talking to people.

“So, she asked me to breakfast yesterday morning, and I went, and…”

“Oh ho!” Chris perks up. “Yuuri! Is this finally you coming to me for some relationship advice? I’ve been _waiting_ for this day—”

“No!” Yuuri squeaks, mortified. “No, of course not, no, I would never want to date her—no, no! Chris! I’d rather date _you_ —”

“I’m not sure if I should be insulted or complimented by your tone…?”

“—and anyway that’s beside the point! She’s from the Aetherium! That’s what I’m getting at!” Yuuri huffs. Makkachin grumbles at him for being loud, and he hurries to pet her head placatingly, until she lays back against his side in a boneless, content lump. “She works for the Aetherium, and apparently they liked my paper on the silver plague so much that they’ve offered me, uh… a position in their research department?”

Chris’s eyebrows shoot up. “Really? Congratulations! I’ll miss having you just one floor up, but that’s nothing compared to this! Next week, dinner’ll be my treat—”

“No, no!” Yuuri cuts him off, waving his hands, and then takes a deep breath. “Chris, that’s the thing. I… think I’m going to say no.”

Chris closes his mouth, stares for a moment, and finally asks, “Why?”

Yuuri blows out a breath, rattled. “I don’t… entirely know? I don’t want to leave my students, I don’t like that their projects are all secret even though I know why they do it, and I don’t want to have to uproot everything I’m doing just to move over there. And I… I don’t know, Chris, it just doesn’t _feel_ right.”

How does he begin to explain that some little part of him feels distaste at the idea of working for the Aetherium? He doesn’t understand _why_ he’s so reluctant, but some corner of his mind has decided it’s appalled at the thought. He doesn’t know what to make of that, either, because it’s such an honor to be invited to work for them—especially after attracting praise from the Council of Daybreak! Why is he so disgusted by that? It makes no sense! Is it just his anxiety playing new tricks?

“Hm,” Chris says thoughtfully, tapping a finger to his lips. “And you want to know if saying no to the Aetherium is stupid?”

Yuuri nods. “I don’t think I have a good reason _why_ if they ask. That’s my problem.”

“Well, you can just tell them your students are more important to you than your own work, at this point in your career,” Chris says, and shrugs. “You _could_ always say you feel like you’ve hit your point of fame, and now you want to help the next generation along more than you want to work for your own advancement.”

“I wouldn’t be working for my own advancement, though,” Yuuri balks. “All of their projects would be top-secret. Do you think she’d buy it if I said I don’t like the secrecy?”

“She might,” Chris offers. “I think, Yuuri, what’s most likely to happen is that she’ll be disappointed, but then she’ll either lose interest in you or try to convince you to change your mind. If you’re set on it, make it clear, and walk away. Otherwise… maybe she _could_ convince you! You could always ask to see the facilities to get a clearer idea of what they’ll want from you.”

“Hmm,” Yuuri muses, rubbing Makkachin’s belly again. “That’s… I might do that.”

“It might help you figure out _why_ it doesn’t feel right, even if it doesn’t change anything.” Chris taps his fingers against the armrest in thought. Yuuri considers him again, for a long moment, and wonders why he feels so poignantly like something is missing. “Or maybe it’ll get rid of that feeling. Maybe you just feel apprehensive because it’s unfamiliar and that feels unsafe.”

“Maybe,” Yuuri allows. Some part of him doubts that, as if it’s just contrary to his nature to work for the Aetherium, but that makes no sense. This _must_ be an anxiety thing, he decides. “Still, I don’t want to abandon my students. They wouldn’t be able to continue their projects unless the Council gave another researcher clearance to work with _argentium._ And that took _ages,_ so… I don’t know.”

“Hmm.” Chris taps his chin. “That’s a valid point. I wonder if the Aetherium has a specific project they want to put you on, or if they just want you in general? Because if it’s the latter, they could always wait until your kids are done, and then transfer you over. Hell, one of them—or even all three of them!—could take over the lab for you, so that people aren’t left unable to research _argentium_ outside the Aetherium.”

“That worries me,” Yuuri admits. “The idea that if I go work for them, nobody outside will have the clearance. It’s probably just an anxiety thing, I mean, but… _argentium_ is bad stuff! I wouldn’t be comfortable if the only research on it was going on behind closed doors, out of public view. You know?”

“Yeah,” Chris nods. “That would seem… unconducive to transparency, too. And god knows Dawnsmere could use a little more of that.”

Yuuri snorts as he flaps Makkachin’s ear back and forth, and she noses into his hand. “They’re very transparent. They’re very transparent that their process is inscrutably bureaucratic.”

“Be our man on the inside,” Chris jokes. “Figure out what on earth takes them so long to approve or deny anything and why everything about this city seems so difficult to manage.”

Yuuri laughs. “All things considered, though, I guess we shouldn’t complain _so_ much. Ridiculous bureaucracy aside, Dawnsmere is a pretty nice place to live. Better than the outside world, at least, you know?”

Chris nods, glancing at the window as if it’ll reveal the world beyond Dawnsmere’s bubble, safe from the ravages of the silver plague and the wastelands surrounding it. “Absolutely. I’d hate to live out there. The sky would be blue every day! I’d either have to stop coordinating my outfits, or I’d have to wear the same color daily. Can you imagine what a nightmare that would be?”

Laughing, Yuuri shakes his head again. “ _That’s_ your primary concern? You are incorrigible.”

Chris grins and leans over to ruffle Makkachin’s fur, too, and she wriggles around to lick his hand. “You know me, Yuuri—my priorities are anything but straight!”

“Understandable,” Yuuri says drily. “I can’t argue with that.”

Chris strokes Makkachin’s back and side, pats her leg, and smiles fondly down at her. “One of these days, Yuuri, we’ll find you a nice man. Or woman, or someone. You need someone who can truly appreciate your ass in the ways it deserves.”

Yuuri wishes he could say he almost chokes, or that he splutters, or _something,_ but the truth is that in their years of friendship, he’s just accepted that this is how things go every time he and Chris mention their love lives. He _is_ surprised, however, when he opens his mouth and what tumbles out is, “What, are you offering?”

Both of them stare at each other for a moment. Anxiety starts to churn in Yuuri’s stomach, and part of him immediately regrets it as tendrils of revulsion threaten to choke him.

Chris laughs, but it comes out a little forced, and Yuuri seriously wishes the floor would open up and swallow him on the spot. “Well, Yuuri, you _do_ have an objectively delightful ass. I’d be a criminal if I didn’t acknowledge it.”

Makkachin lifts her head, looks between the two of them, and whines. Yuuri hurriedly starts petting her again, still feeling vaguely sick, and tries not to acknowledge the way his heartbeat is roaring in his ears. “Right, well. Thanks. For acknowledging it.”

“Anytime,” Chris says, trying to be jovial, but after a moment of awkward silence, he clears his throat and shifts on the couch. “Yuuri… ah… was that your way of letting me know you want us to date?”

Yuuri’s voice dries up and dies in the back of his throat. “I—”

Maybe he’s just making himself sick from nerves. Maybe that’s what this is. Maybe he should… maybe if he says _yes,_ maybe if they do try dating, he’ll get over himself, and then hell, they’re friends! They’re great friends. Why _wouldn’t_ they make a nice couple? He could… they could make it work, and he’s comfortable with Chris. And, and…

He shakes his head, steels himself, and leans over and kisses Chris.

He can taste the wine on his friend’s breath, can feel the stubble on his chin and the softness of his lips. Chris inhales sharply, surprised, but doesn’t pull away—Yuuri pulls back first, and oh, oh. He’s… he’s trembling.

Makkachin whines again.

This time, she sits up, and Yuuri hugs her to his chest, buries his face in her fur, and shudders. “I… I… sorry. Sorry. Sorry, I shouldn’t have… sorry, I’m sorry—”

“It’s okay,” Chris murmurs, scooting closer. “I… I’m sorry, too, Yuuri, I don’t think—I love you dearly, my friend, but I don’t think a relationship between us, well…”

“Me neither,” Yuuri blurts out. “I thought, I thought I wanted it but I don’t think I do. Sorry. Fuck. I’m sorry.”

Why did that kiss feel so _wrong?_

Makkachin paws at his chest, and he winces, realizing how tightly he was holding her. He kisses her fur and whispers “Sorry,” to her, too, and tries to control his shaking. Can the floor swallow him already? God, he just fucked up so badly…

“It’s alright,” Chris assures, and he lays a tentative hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. “I’m not mad. I… wish I could give you what you need, but…”

“No,” Yuuri shakes his head. “No, no. I… let’s just—sorry, fuck. Sorry, I just messed everything up, didn’t I?”

“I don’t think so,” Chris says, squeezing his shoulder. “Friends, still, yes?”

Yuuri looks up, eyes wide. “That’s okay?”

“I think so,” Chris says, quirking a sideways smile at him. “If you’re okay with it, so am I.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says, and Makkachin licks his cheek. “Okay. Okay. Yes. Friends.”

Chris takes his hand and squeezes it, smiling warmly now, and the feeling of _wrong wrong wrong_ finally starts to recede. He lets out a deep breath.

“That said,” Chris begins, and Yuuri’s eyes go wide again as fear comes back. But Chris is wearing his devious grin again, and the anxiety recedes almost immediately as he continues, “you clearly haven’t kissed someone in a while, have you? I could give you pointers, if you want. For whenever you _do_ find that special someone, you know—”

And then they’re both laughing as Makkachin butts her head into Yuuri’s chest to demand more attention, and Yuuri finally relaxes again, because this feels normal and good and right. Whatever came over him earlier is gone, and joking with his friend is comfortable and good. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, whether he wants to transfer to the Aetherium, or _what,_ but…

This? This is enough.

But all too soon, it grows late, and Chris bids him goodnight with a hug and a gentle kiss to his forehead. Yuuri sits with Makkachin, fingers curled into her fur, as the silence settles like a heavy, oppressive cloak, draped around his shoulders with the weight of an unwanted embrace.

“I need some tea,” he tells her, closing his eyes against the ache in his chest. “Come on, girl. Let’s go to the kitchen.”

Vicchan ambles in, collar jingling, just as Yuuri gives in to curious, bland temptation and spoons a dollop of apricot jam into his tea. He doesn’t judge, at least, just wandering to paw at Yuuri’s leg until he gets picked up, and Yuuri smiles softly (why is he so sad?) as he takes his tea and his dogs back to the living room.

Is it enough?

It has to be.

* * *

Yuri looks dead on his feet.

“’M fine,” he mumbles when he catches Yuuri looking at him, concerned. “D’we have more coffee?”

“We _do,_ ” Yuuri says, but when Yuri starts to get up, he holds up a hand to forestall him. “No, look. You go on home. I’ll wait for the gel to finish running, take the notes, and close up. Go get some rest, Yura.”

“I can do it,” Yuri protests, crossing his arms. The bags under his eyes are impressive; Yuuri remembers late, late nights from his student days and sympathizes. “Said I would.”

“And as your instructing mentor, I’m telling you to go home,” Yuuri repeats wryly. “You’re exhausted, Yura. If you really want to make it up to me, you can come in tomorrow morning and help me finish up the second draft of the induced apoptosis paper before the symposium. Okay?”

Yuri huffs, hems, haws, grumbles, and complains his way out the door, but Yuuri just laughs him off, knowing there’s gratitude in his eyes (somewhere behind all the exhaustion). It’s pretty late, and the final measurement needs to be taken in another twenty minutes—not too terribly long, but Yuri probably would have passed out at his desk.

Once Yuri is gone, Yuuri sighs to his empty lab and flicks his fingers to a screen, putting on some music. While he waits for the gel to finish running, he starts cleaning—putting away clean test tubes and beakers from the drying racks, refilling boxes of micropipetter tips, and putting the refill bins of centrifuge tubes back in their cabinets. It’s mindless work, and something the students or even interns could easily do for him, but he doesn’t mind doing it—it’s a way to pass the time, doing something with his hands. And beyond that, this is his lab. He likes to take care of it.

He’s tidying the top shelf of one of the cabinets, putting a stack of textbooks back into order and staring in bemusement at a disposable pipette that somehow found its way up there, when the stool he’s standing on wobbles and he yelps, hand slamming into the back of the cabinet as he fumbles for balance, flailing for a comical moment before he regains his footing.

Okay, so this is a stool he has to set outside for maintenance to handle. Duly noted.

It’s when he looks back into the cabinet that his breath catches in his throat. Where his knuckles hit, there’s… a crack in the paneling.

There’s no light coming through from the other side of the cabinet, however, and he peers at it, bemused. He didn’t hit it _that_ hard, did he?

When he pokes at it guiltily, a piece flakes and falls off, and his eyes widen. There’s a false back panel in this cabinet, and he just broke into it.

Now he’s curious. What’s hiding in his lab? How long has it been here? Who had this lab before he did? He can’t remember—he’ll have to check the records tomorrow, he decides, peeling back more of the paneling. There’s something back there, he can see it—and then the last bit of paneling comes off under his hands, and he extracts the hidden object.

It’s a notebook. He brushes his fingers over the cover, wondering, and opens the front cover to the first page.

 _Experimental Notes/Lab Notebook,_ it reads. And below that, in neat, measured script, are (presumably) the initials of the notebook’s owner:

_VKN._

 .

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE check out [Riki's art](https://rikichie.tumblr.com/post/174274516492/this-is-a-scene-from-the-first-chapter-of-rimis), it's sensational and I am DYING because it's GORGEOUS.
> 
> next time: how do you find out more about someone who never existed in the first place?


	2. shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri tries to deal with some upsetting information.

 

It’s dark.

_We’re going somewhere,_ Yuuri thinks hazily, eyes barely open. He’s snuggled into his lover’s chest, and arms are tight around him, holding him close. His thoughts are sluggish and he’s so, so tired, and it’s so dark save for the pools of light that wash over them as the streetlamps roll by. He hurts, but it’s okay, because he knows his darling is here, and his darling makes everything okay.

“I love you, Yuurasha,” his darling murmurs, kissing his hair. “I love you so much, dear heart.”

Yuuri sighs and rubs his cheek against his shoulder. He loves this man so much he can’t quite find the words to express it. “Mmm…”

Immediately, a hand cups his cheek. “Shh. Shh, dear. Rest. Everything will be fine. I love you.”

Why does his love sound so frightened? Fear begins to gnaw at Yuuri now, too, and he struggles to open his eyes properly. It’s dark, and they’re on the floor in the back of some sort of vehicle…? He can’t really see it, so maybe…

“No—no, Yuuri, hush, lie still,” his love instructs, forestalling his attempt to sit up. “Rest. I’m here. Nobody will hurt you anymore. Okay?”

Yuuri sighs, confused, but he trusts his lover with his heart and his life, so he mumbles a soft “Mmkay,” and burrows back into his embrace. He’s warm, and he smells like home. Yuuri loves him so, so much. Where are they going? He doesn’t remember. It’s okay. They’re together.

The gentle hand on his cheek tips his chin up, and then a soft kiss is pressed to his lips. “Oh, darling.”

“Mm,” Yuuri sighs, closing his eyes. “Kiss me more?”

His love lets out a breathy, sad chuckle, but obliges, so sweet and so tender that Yuuri feels like the most treasured, cherished person alive. “I love you,” he murmurs again, the fringe of his hair brushing Yuuri’s nose. “Remember when you braided forget-me-nots into my hair when we were still in school? I realized I was in love with you that day, did you know?”

“You told me,” Yuuri mumbles, smiling. He remembers it well—his lover’s hair was long and lustrous in those days, and he loved letting Yuuri style and play with it, even before they were a couple. They were best friends throughout their school careers, acing their classes together and… oh, those were simple days. “Love you, too. Loved you then.”

“I know.” His darling kisses him again. Why does he sound so sad? “I know, Yuurasha.”

“Always gonna love you,” Yuuri tries, because he wants him to be happy, not desperate, not sad, not forlorn. How has he only now noticed the tragedy swimming behind those deep blue eyes? “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, Yuuri…” His lover’s face crumples, and he buries his face in Yuuri’s hair, holding him tighter. Something in his side protests with a searing stab of pain, but he forces himself to swallow his cry and merely gasps instead, clutching at those broad shoulders and trying to reassure him. What’s wrong? What’s happening?

“Where are we going?” he asks, clinging to his love. His love, his life, his heart.

“I don’t know,” his love whispers, his eyes endlessly sorrowful, and then he melts away into the darkness and the lights and Yuuri is alone, alone lying on the floor of the van as the streetlamps roll by, and he—he’s _alone,_ and he’s terrified and his heart is pounding and it hurts, it hurts, why does he hurt? Where’s his love? Come back, he’s alone, he’s scared, he’s so scared, please, _where is he going_ —

—and he opens his eyes, lying alone in his too-big bed, feeling like sorrow just punched him in the gut.

It knocks the breath from him, leaving him gasping for air as he stares at the dark ceiling, eyes wide and his chest tight. That dream—that dream, it felt so _real_ , and fuck, oh god, his entire body yearns for the touch of his mystery lover—fuck! Who _was_ that? He’s had this dream before! Who is the man he keeps seeing? Why can’t he remember his name or his face?

There’s a lump in his throat that’s so big it hurts to swallow, and eyes prickling, Yuuri swings his legs over the side of his too-big bed and sits up, burying his face in his hands. He hates having this dream. His body aches for touch, his heart aches for comfort, and his mind…

He hurts. He hurts, he hurts, he hurts.

When he pushes himself to his feet, wiping at his eyes as he stumbles to the bathroom and washes his face to try and ground himself, Vicchan’s little nose pokes out from the blanket, and soon a tiny, warm, fluffy body is pressed against his leg as he towels his face off. It’s not the touch he craves, but it’s what he has, and it helps.

“Vicchan,” he whispers, and stops. His voice is so raw and so rough, both from sleep and from how close he’s come to sobbing in the middle of his bedroom, and it takes him a moment to gather his dog up and bury his face in his soft fur. “Oh, Vicchan.”

Vicchan wriggles, soft and concerned and sleepy, and licks his cheek. Yuuri almost bursts into tears—Vicchan loves him so, so much. What did he ever do to deserve this much love?

Who loves—loved?—could love?—him like this? _Who is he dreaming about?_

“It’s okay, Vicchan.” He runs trembling fingers through Vicchan’s fur, scrunching them through the fluff on top of his head, and takes a deep breath, trying to ground himself, trying to remind himself that there is no mystery man, that his life is steady, that he’s here and not going somewhere, somewhere, somewhere. “It’s okay. It was just that bad dream again. That’s it. I’m okay, little one.”

Vicchan licks his cheek again, still unsatisfied, and Yuuri kisses the top of his head. He’s a good boy.

What’s possibly the worst part of this dream is that every time he has it, he’s always too upset to get back to sleep immediately. Something about it stays with him (probably, if he had to guess, the fact that its recurrence is unsettling) and he hates that in its wake, his mind is always too loud to rest.

“Oh, Vicchan,” he sighs, setting the dog against his hip like a baby. “Are you sleepy? Do you want to go back to sleep?”

Vicchan doesn’t respond except to put a paw on his chest, adorable and perfect as always. Yuuri cracks a tiny smile at him, swallowing the lump in his throat as best as he can. Vicchan makes him feel better. Vicchan is a very, very good boy.

“I’ll go sit at the table, Vicchan,” he decides. “You can come with me. But if you want to go back to bed, you go, okay?”

Vicchan’s tail wags lazily as Yuuri carries him out of the bathroom, the light fading behind them as they walk. Yuuri can’t help but smile at him, very slightly.

“Though I guess you don’t have to worry about being well-rested for work tomorrow. You don’t have work, do you? Or a meeting, or anything?” He reaches his study and settles into his chair, letting Vicchan lie across his lap, and scratches behind his ears. “No, no. Little Vicchan gets to stay home and sleep in as long as he wants, and there will be food when he wants it, and there will be a nice walk later. Little Vicchan is a pampered baby, isn’t he?”

Vicchan licks his fingers, and Yuuri laughs softly.

“I love you, Vicchan.”

Vicchan yawns.

Still excruciatingly lonely, Yuuri stares down at his desk and the papers and books stacked across the shelves nearby. He tries to keep everything mostly organized, so that the pictures of his dogs he has around the edges are still visible—there’s a lot of empty space, though; he’s been meaning to get more photos of the dogs—but the result is that it’s very easy for his attention to fall to the newest addition to his organization system:

The mysterious lab notebook.

VKN’s lab notebook.

“I wonder who VKN is,” Yuuri tells Vicchan, running a hand through his fur. “I read these notes, Vicchan. They’re… terrifying.”

He hasn’t told anyone what VKN’s notes say. He’ll need to do his own research, will need to corroborate and replicate VKN”s data before he puts stock in it, but the notebook in front of him is meticulous. The results of a combination of experimental simulation and research are striking, and VKN’s conclusion is nothing short of earthshattering.

There, in neat print, right in front of him, is a statement that (despite his having read it at least ten times by now) shakes him to the core.

_The silver plague seems to have been artificially manufactured._

It’s a simple sentence. Just nine words. But it turns _everything_ on its head.

Now, normally, Yuuri wouldn’t buy into something like this, just because he read it in a book. But the science holds, the technique is sound, and though he’ll have to replicate the experiments to see if his data matches VKN’s, the hypotheses that the mystery scientist proposed all seem logical and coherent.

But, alarming as all that is, it’s not what’s _really_ bothering Yuuri about this notebook.

There are two things, actually. First is that nobody actually worked in his lab before him—he checked the building records to make sure, too. Before his name in the record annals, there isn’t another. The lab building itself is new, and he’s the first person to get the lab and office he has. How VKN could have hidden this notebook behind a false shelf in Yuuri’s own lab is… beyond him.

Second—and this is the biggest issue, by far—is that VKN wrote a note addressed to him, personally.

_Yuuri,_

_I don’t know what will happen now; I think they’ve noticed me poking my nose in. If they get to me – do not let them erase this knowledge. **Do not trust the Aetherium.** I’ll explain when I can, I hope, but if not, keep this data safe._

_Keep yourself safe, too._

_V._

“I don’t understand, Vicchan,” Yuuri murmurs softly, staring at the note. The handwriting is utterly unfamiliar, and yet it’s unmistakably addressed to him. And it was hidden in his lab. Who in the world is VKN? Why does they address Yuuri personally, when Yuuri doesn’t know them? Is it because Yuuri has clearance to work with _argentium_ and can potentially replicate their experiments?

How did they perform these experiments when Yuuri is the _only_ non-Aetherium scientist who can work with it?

…Is VKN an Aetherium scientist?

“I don’t understand,” Yuuri repeats, bowing his head.

Vicchan licks his chin.

VKN is a mystery. Yuuri has to know more. He needs to understand why VKN left this chilling data to him, specifically, when he has to log his uses of _argentium_ in a ledger that the Aetherium has access to. Who is VKN? What do they want from Yuuri? Who are they!

“I can’t tell anyone about this, Vicchan,” he whispers. “It’s just you and me. You can tell Makkachin, if you want, but that’s it. I don’t know who I can trust anymore, Vicchan. This is… this is scary.”

Vicchan doesn’t respond, but Yuuri likes to think that he agrees, that he’ll keep it a secret and he won’t share. He’s a good boy, anyway. Yuuri trusts that.

It’s horrifying, thinking that the Aetherium could be sitting on a secret like this. If the silver plague was… _artificially manufactured,_ it would mean that all the death and destruction that ravaged the country all those years ago was… orchestrated. That someone, or a group of people, decided that what they wanted to do was to kill _so many people._

And people like Sonya Almandine are hiding that from everyone just to keep calling Dawnsmere the city of a thousand dreams.

“I don’t know who I can trust,” Yuuri says again, closing his eyes. It hurts, thinking of Chris, or Yuri, or Mila or Kenjirou, as someone he has to be suspicious of, but he’s shaken. This information is…

There’s only one thing he knows for sure:

He has to find out more.

And that means he has to have a plan.

* * *

Yuuri makes sure to be early to breakfast with Sonya. He needs to choose a specific table. He has a plan, and his heart rises up his throat to choke him on his own shock-turned-terror as he realizes that he really is planning to, um… do this. Planning to carry out his plan.

After a moment’s fretful dawdling, he finds a table in the café that is suitably close to one of the big decorative mirrors on the wall, takes his seat across from the mirrors, and settles in to wait.

Soon enough, right at eight on the dot, she breezes in, lighting up when she spots him and taking her seat easily (so easily that he wonders, irrational but afraid, whether she’s noticed what he’s doing and is planning to catch him in the act). “Good morning, Yuuri!”

“Good morning,” he manages, looking up from his phone with what he hopes is a natural and friendly smile. “How was your week?”

“It was fine!” Sonya smiles brightly. “Work was the same as always, you know, but it wasn’t too big of a drag. We’re working on some exciting projects back at headquarters!”

“That’s good to hear,” Yuuri says, wondering why he’s so bad at small talk. How in the world did he ever get to be friends with Chris when he’s so bad at _talking_ to people? “I’m guessing they’re confidential, though?”

Sonya offers a rueful smile. “Unfortunately, yes. I don’t have the clearance to tell you about them right now. But… I guess that’s a great way to segue into what we’re here to discuss, right?”

“Ah,” Yuuri says, nodding. He swallows hard, anxiety bubbling up in his stomach, because he’s here to say _no, I don’t think I want to accept,_ and he’s never heard of anyone rejecting an Aetherium job offer before, and it’s probably going to be so _rude_ of him, and…

_Beep._

Just like last week, the holo-table flashes to remind him that he hasn’t placed an order yet, and sheepishly, he glances to her in apology before turning his attention back to the menu. Today he plans to get a caramel latte and a chocolate croissant, still keeping to light fare because he’s not comfortable enough to be hungry, but there’s a fruity, rich-looking dessert tea on the menu that has him hesitating. “Sorry, um…”

Sonya laughs, tosses her head, and tucks a lock of hair neatly behind her ear. “Oh, no worries. Take your time, honey.”

_Honey?_ Yuuri has to try not to wrinkle his nose in obvious distaste. Why is she calling him pet names when they barely know each other? Is that… normal, for most people, and he’s just… ugh. No, Chris calls him darling sometimes. There’s no need for this to be getting under his skin.

Oh, what the hell, he’ll get the tea instead of the latte. Strawberry vanilla red tea, with some… honey.

Once his order is placed, Yuuri flicks the holoscreen back to its dormant position and looks up again, meeting Sonya’s eyes and trying not to shift or fidget. “Okay. Sorry that took me a minute. Ah… as for what you were saying…”

Sonya waves her hands in eager anticipation. “Yes! There’s no use ignoring the elephant in the room, right? Go ahead, tell me—I’m dying to know. You’re accepting, right?”

Oh, god, the way she’s excitedly leaning forward and beaming at him is going to make saying no at least twelve times more awkward. Yuuri swallows hard, licks his lips, and runs a hand through his hair, which is a step up from adjusting his glasses but barely.

“Um.”

Almost immediately, Sonya’s face dims. Yuuri tries not to feel guilty for quashing her enthusiasm. He might be a bit overwhelmed by it at times, but that doesn’t mean he wants to be _mean…_

“Um?” she asks, more neutral, as she sits up a little straighter and regards him with intent focus.

“I—I haven’t decided yet,” Yuuri blurts out, hanging his head. “I’m—I’m sorry. I know it should be an easy decision, but I… I just don’t know yet. There’s so much that would change, and it just seems so sudden, and—and I don’t know what would happen to my students, you know? I can’t just walk away and leave them hanging when they’d have to switch mentors and probably abandon their current research projects that we’ve been working on for so long now, and—”

“Whoa, whoa, Yuuri, slow down!” Sonya holds up a hand, laughing again. “It’s okay, it’s fine! You don’t have to be sorry for being unsure! Relax, I promise I don’t bite.” She pauses, then, gives him a sharp glance, sweeping up and down, and winks. “Unless you’re into that.”

Yuuri’s face flushes bright red. _“Um—”_

“I’m joking, I’m joking!” Sonya laughs and shakes her head. “Sorry, Yuuri. You’re very easy to tease. It’s cute. Anyway, if you need longer to decide, that’s not a problem at all! Is there anything I can do to help you make up your mind?”

Yuuri fidgets and fusses with the sleeves of his jacket for a moment. He’s _so bad_ at talking to people! Sonya flirts with him like Chris does, and yet he turns into a stupid, flustered mess whereas with Chris he just fires right back. What is _wrong_ with him? This is just a conversation.

With someone who works directly for the Aetherium.

And who is offering him a job at the Aetherium.

The Aetherium, which, if VKN’s lab notes are to be trusted, _manufactured the silver plague._

But still, just a conversation.

Trying to bring his mind back to the present instead of letting it go down a spiral of nervous thoughts, he bites his lip and asks, “Um… what kind of things do you mean…?”

Sonya beams, bright and sunny. “Oh, I’m so glad you asked! I could offer a lot, depending on what you want. I can try and answer any questions that you may have about the facilities, or I can set up meetings with your potential coworkers—though you must understand, of course, that due to the nature of the work that goes on at the Aetherium, they won’t be able to tell you too much about their research—or whatever, really! The sky’s the limit!”

Yuuri adjusts his glasses and blinks a few times, thinking of VKN’s notes and the heartwrenching loneliness from his dream this morning.

_The silver plague seems to have been artificially manufactured._

That one sentence has thrown _everything_ off balance. More than the note addressed to him, more than the data supporting it, even—that conclusion, that one terrifying, nine-word conclusion, has ripped the carpet out from under Yuuri’s feet, and he’s drowning in uncertainty.

Fuck, he’s a _scientist,_ not… not some kind of _spy,_ or _espionage agent,_ going around and trying to discover state secrets!

And yet, here he goes. He’s a scientist and science is all about finding things out, and he _needs_ to know more. And that means he has to…

“Ah, actually, yes, I was wondering,” he begins, tentative, and Sonya perks up. “I was wondering if, maybe, I could get a tour of the facilities?”

“A tour!” Sonya clasps her hands in delight. “That would be great, what a wonderful idea! Of course. How about this weekend?”

Shit. He thought she’d have to schedule it with someone else. Fuck. “Um… I think that would work, yes. I’m not busy this weekend.”

“Great!” Sonya beams. “I can meet you here Saturday morning at ten, if that works for you, and from here we can take my private car to City Hall and enter from there. What do you say?”

Yuuri bites his lip, then nods. He can’t back out now, even if he thought he’d have a distraction and then it didn’t work. That might be suspicious. “Yes, of course. Ten sounds… ten sounds fine.”

Sonya smiles that sunny, too-bright smile again as she tucks her hair behind her ear. “Delightful! Was there anything else?”

_Yes,_ Yuuri thinks, wracking his brains. He needs to make her contact the Aetherium, if at all possible, because he’s banking on… he needs… Ah! “Yes, actually. If I could talk to someone—you, maybe? Or the council’s subcommittee—about what would happen to my students after I accept, if I do? I’d appreciate that greatly.”

“Hmm…” Sonya taps a finger to her lips, thoughtful, and Yuuri’s heart seizes in his chest. “Well, the license to study _argentium_ isn’t under my authority, but I _could_ try and talk to the guys in charge of that, just for you, Yuuri!”

“That would be wonderful,” Yuuri says, then swallows his nerves and presses on. “Because, you know, not knowing what will happen to them is a big factor in whether I can or can’t accept your offer, so…”

“Of course, of course.” Sonya nods understandingly, leans her cheek on her palm, and hums. “Hmmm. I don’t know whether—actually, would you mind for a second? I could make a quick call and try and find out for you.”

“Oh, no, not at all, I don’t mind!” Yuuri smiles back, perhaps his first genuine smile of the day, because the opportunity to eavesdrop, if he can, to see what it takes to get clearance to talk to Aetherium higher-ups, fills him with sick relief.

_Do not trust the Aetherium,_ VKN said. With facts and figures and numbers that make an alarming amount of sense.

And here he is, having breakfast with a member of the Aetherium that wants to recruit him. Here he is, trying to figure out if VKN was right. Who VKN even _is,_ for that matter. He feels like he’s taking his first steps out on an endless high wire with a noose around his neck—one misstep, and he chokes.

“Great,” Sonya says with a warm smile that almost reaches her eyes. “Just a moment then.”

Yuuri pulls out his phone just as she gets hers, pretending he’s answering emails to politely ignore what she does. In the meantime, she opens a holoscreen to contact the Aetherium, and Yuuri very casually angles his phone’s camera toward the decorative mirror at an angle behind their table.

There’s a flurry of movement as Sonya rapidly taps a number into the screen, and then a green blink as it’s approved. Yuuri records for a second or two after, not wanting to time his movements with anything that might look suspicious, and pulls up an email he drafted this morning, as if he’s been typing it this whole time. His heart is pounding in his throat, and he has to take a long, careful sip of his tea to disguise it.

He has a recording of how to input Sonya Almandine’s Aetherium clearance code. He’s one step closer to finding out who VKN is.

He doesn’t think he’s ever been so terrified in his life.

* * *

“Yuuri, I’m _dying,_ ” Mila announces, flopping back in her seat. “I’m so _hungry,_ and that smells so _good!_ Can we eat yet?”

“No,” Yuri huffs. “He invited us over just to make us watch him feed his dogs gourmet food, just fucking watch—”

“Yuuri wouldn’t do that. He’s way too nice,” Kenjirou interjects.

“Uh, no, dumbass, clearly _someone_ forgot about the time he yelled at us about the condoms—”

“—I still wonder who _did_ that!”

“My money’s on Dr. Giacometti, let’s be real.”

Yuuri sets the pot of rice in his hands down on the table with a little more force than strictly necessary, successfully making all three of them jump. Do they _have_ to bring up the mystery condoms (he’s still pretty sure it was one of them who put them in his office, but they all swear their own innocence) when he’s invited them over to have dinner at his own apartment?

Adjusting his glasses pointedly, he smiles with deliberate cheer and gestures to the bowls of curry he’s set out on the table. “You can! Go ahead, dinner is ready. Dig in, you three!”

“He didn’t start lecturing us about the condoms again,” Kenjirou says in a low whisper, eyes wide. “Does that mean we’re off the hook—”

“Talking like that really doesn’t help prove your innocence,” Yuuri tuts, heading back to the kitchen and clapping his hands. There’s a jingle of collar tags, and Makkachin and Vicchan come careening out of the living room almost before he lowers his arms, bolting to him and bounding around his legs, paws clicking and tails wagging. “Hey, hey! Calm down or I can’t get to your food! Come on, come on!”

There’s a muffled yelp behind him, followed by Yuri saying, “Yeah, Kenjirou, don’t say ‘off the hook’! That makes it sound like we were on the hook at first! Pass the rice.”

“Well,” Mila says wickedly, and he hears plates clink against each other, “maybe he was. Or maybe you were, Yura! I wouldn’t know— _I_ had nothing to do with the whole affair—but maybe you’re so careful to cast blame elsewhere for a reason…”

“Oh my god,” Yuri hisses. “Fucking drop it, I wouldn’t pull that kind of dumb prank. Especially not on someone who actually has control over my fucking future—”

Yuuri pokes his head out of the dog food cabinet and peers back at them. “Actually, on the note of your futures, I do have something to announce!”

His three squabbling students fall silent, glancing back and forth between themselves, as he pops open two cans and sets out dinner for both Makkachin and Vicchan, in their special bowls on the side of the kitchen near the dining room so they feel included, too. He ruffles Makkachin’s fluffy ears as she prances past him, shakes his head fondly, and tosses the cans before he washes his hands and sits down at the table with them.

Yuri, as usual, is first to break the silence. “What’s that supposed to mean, Katsudon?”

“We just submitted the proposal this morning,” Mila adds, frowning. “So it can’t be about the grant. It’d take a thousand _and one_ dreams to make the Aetherium actually approve funding _that_ fast.”

Yuuri snorts. “No, no. It’s not about our lab work at all—well, okay, it does impact it, but not… whatever.”

“The suspense is killing us,” Yuri says acerbically. Kenjirou nods with enthusiastic assent, and Yuuri appreciates that at least he doesn’t open his mouth to attempt to communicate in the middle of chewing this time.

“Alright, alright!” He laughs, rests his chin in his palm, and leans forward, butterflies in his stomach. “So… I haven’t made a decision about this or anything, but I want to be honest with you all, in case you need to be transferred to new research mentors soon.”

“ _What!?”_

Kenjirou claps a hand over his mouth, as if he didn’t just spew rice onto Yuuri’s nice, clean dining table.

“Why would we be getting transferred?” Mila asks, narrowing her eyes in thought. “Are you—did you decide—”

Yuri forgoes all other manners of communication and opts for a simple, yet eloquent, “What the fuck!”

Yuuri sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. This is why he was apprehensive about telling them, but…

_Do not trust the Aetherium._

He doesn’t know what’s going on, with the silver plague and the Council of Daybreak, but as Dawnsmere’s most eminent researcher in biochemistry and immunology, and the _only_ one with the proper clearance to work with _argentium_ , it’s his duty to find out.

And it’s his duty, as a mentor and as a friend and as someone who just deeply, fiercely wants to protect these brilliant young minds that have been put in his care, to keep them safe.

“I haven’t made a decision,” he repeats, taking off his glasses and rubbing them on his shirt to avoid having to look at their shocked and upset faces, “but I _have_ been offered a research position with the Aetherium.”

There’s a stunned silence around the table. When Yuuri puts his glasses back on, unable to keep wiping them eternally, all three of them are staring at him, wide-eyed and quiet.

“Are… are you going to accept?” Mila finally asks, and as he looks about the table, Yuuri is horrified to see Kenjirou’s lip wobble. He’s not about to cry about this, is he?! No decisions have been made! Yuuri is just trying to let them know what’s going on, so they can be prepared in case something goes wrong or he has to leave them or whatever!

“I don’t know,” he answers, truthful. “But I wanted to let you know that that’s something that’s, well… happening, maybe. And I also want to assure you that one of my conditions, if I choose to accept their offer, is that you three will be able to finish your projects, whether under me or under someone else who will be given _argentium_ clearance. So I don’t want you to worry about that. Okay?”

Kenjirou sniffles. “But—but we’ll miss you, Yuuri!”

“We’ll live,” Mila says, offering a tiny smile. “I mean… that’s… wow. Congratulations, Yuuri, I mean… we all knew you were amazing already, but I bet it’s, like… really something, to be offered a job at the Aetherium’s labs…”

“Maybe I’ll accept, and then in a few years I’ll see you come in the same doors I did,” Yuuri offers, trying to be reassuring. “Now, all of you, eat, please! You’ve hardly touched your food!”

“Right, right,” Mila laughs, shaking off the spell of uncertainty that seems to have descended on the table. “Okay. This _is_ really good, by the way, Yuuri. Um. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he says warmly. “I hope you all eat very well. All of these recipes were my mother’s! She would be glad to know they’re being enjoyed, even now.”

He did a lot of thinking of home while cooking, tonight. Thinking of home… always fills him with wistful feelings that he can’t quite shake himself of, for hours and hours on end, and he already knows that when his students leave and he’s left in the quiet walls of his home, he will feel their absence keenly. Right now, they help fill the void left by his family’s ghosts, but after the plague hit and home was ruined, and…

Well. There’s no need to dwell on that right now. His mother would be happy to know her recipes bring joy to people even now, and that’s that.

They fall into small talk after a few more minutes drift by, slowly slipping from dismay back into something more comfortable. Yuuri watches with relief as his students all start to smile again, joking and laughing with each other, and sits quiet as Makkachin pads over to sit by his chair and wag her tail.

“Hi, girl,” he murmurs in Yashiman, his native tongue, as he lays his free hand atop her head. “Sweet Makka, sweet girl.”

Makkachin nudges his hand, her eyes on the pork in the curry on his plate, and licks her chops.

Yuuri has to laugh as she shuffles closer to him, eyes molten and pleading. “You aren’t still hungry, are you? You just ate! You just ate so much food!”

“Oh, boy, he’s talking to his dogs again,” Yuri groans.

“Mm _hmmm,_ and could you remind me who tells Potya she’s a glorious menace from the depths of the heavens every morning?” Mila hums, somewhere between smug and indulgent. “Or who has full conversations with her about the amount of cat hair that gets on his entire wardrobe?”

“Let’s be honest, he wears that as a fashion statement,” Kenjirou jokes.

Yuri looks outraged. “Potya is _different!_ First of all, she _is_ a ferocious goddess and if she wanted to kill both of you, she _could,_ so don’t be fucking stupid. And second, she’s not…”

“Not what?” Yuuri asks, amused, when he trails off. “Not as big and fluffy as Makkachin?”

“How dare you.”

“That’s just a fact, Yura,” Mila laughs. “She’s smaller, and Makkachin is super fluffy. It’s just facts, not something to get all worked up about!”

“She might be smaller, but she’s fluffier,” Yuri contends, frowning as he stuffs a petulant bite of rice and curry into his mouth. “Fluff is like… fur per area, right?”

“I think fluff is based on how far the fur extends from the skin?” Kenjirou wonders. “At least, that’s how I always interpreted it?”

“No, that doesn’t make sense. Then something with wiry and thin hair could still be called fluffy, if it was just ungroomed and kept long.” Mila shakes her head. Yuuri watches them with fond amusement and keeps petting Makkachin as he eats his curry, despite her well-practiced pleading puppy eyes. (He’s safe, so long as he doesn’t look at her.)

“Okay, then!” Yuri slams his fist into the table for extra emphasis, and Makkachin jumps. Yuuri pats her ears a little more frantically, and she relaxes easily. “So we need a standardized lab procedure to determine what the definition of fluff is, and then we need to prove that Makkachin is less fluffy than Potya!”

Makkachin, hearing her name, perks up and wriggles under the table to go lay her head in Yuri’s lap. Yuuri can’t quite stifle a laugh as she presses her cold nose into his leg and he yelps, slamming his knee into the underside of the tabletop, and Makkachin bumps back into his legs in surprise.

“Ow! Fuck!”

“Awww!” Mila peers under the table and coos. “Hiii, girl! Hi, Makka! Makkachin, who’s a pretty girl? Makkachin!”

Makkachin, who loves attention of any and all sorts, turns to her immediately, lifting her chin for scratches and stepping on Yuri’s foot in the process, if his sudden hiss is anything to go by. Mila croons and ruffles Makkachin’s ears, squishes her face, and hand-feeds her a piece of meat, and Yuuri beams. He loves when people love his dogs. They’re very good dogs, and they deserve the love.

“Where’s the little one?” Kenjirou asks, looking around eagerly. “Vicchan!”

“Oh, he’s around,” Yuuri assures, smiling. With his dogs and his students, all the confusion and lies and potential danger feel far away, and it’s easy to pretend everything about the past week, from finding the lab notebook to reading VKN’s note _to him_ , was all part of the same strange dream. He feels cozy and secure as he eats and laughs, like nothing can touch him or hurt him, and he wants to bask in it.

“There he is!” Kenjirou gasps in delight and holds out his arms, leaning over the armrest of his chair precariously enough that Yuuri’s almost afraid he’ll tip over and fall. “Vicchan! Hi! Hi, there, what a cute boy you are!”

Yuri sits in the middle of it all, looking supremely disgruntled as he shovels rice into his mouth.

“You know they love you,” Yuuri offers, hiding a smile. “If you want to pet them, they’ll be very happy to let you.”

“Why would I want to pet them?” Yuri huffs. “Mila and Kenjirou are just idiots who’re letting their food get cold. That’s _their_ problem, not mine.”

“Food can always be reheated,” Mila sing-songs, squishing Makkachin’s cheeks. “But a good girl needs petting right now, doesn’t she! Doesn’t she, Makkachin!”

“She’ll never get tired of you,” Yuuri warns and laughs as Mila looks offended at the thought. “You probably need to multitask if you do want to eat your food when it’s hot.”

Vicchan, meanwhile, licks Kenjirou’s foot and then bounces up on his back legs, wagging his tail and yipping, and Kenjirou looks at Yuuri with delight. “Can I?”

Yuuri nods and gestures. “Go ahead! He loves being held.”

There’s something almost domestic, watching the three of them eat the food he made for them and play with his dogs. It’s not quite a paternal feeling, but it comes close, he thinks—though he doesn’t know for sure what that would feel like—and in this moment, he feels safe, and he wants to make sure they all feel safe, too.

As if he can’t just have a few moments of comfort in his own home, VKN’s carefully penned message drifts back across his mind. _Do not trust the Aetherium._

He thinks back to Sonya’s carefully crafted smiles and the Aetherium’s lack of transparence around any of its bureaucratic procedures.

He thinks back to VKN’s experimental results and the horrifying conclusion drawn from them.

He thinks back to today’s red sky and its puffy, gold clouds. Thinks about Dawnsmere’s gilded appearance and its “thousand dreams”.

There’s something rotting beneath the gold.

_Do not trust the Aetherium._

_Don’t worry, VKN,_ he thinks, smile fading as he looks down at Makkachin, at Mila and Yuri and Kenjirou, at the joy all around him. _I don’t._

* * *

Yuuri heads to the Dawnsmere Central Library one evening, doing his best to be anonymous. He thought this through—back in his university days, as he was studying to get his lab and his degree, he would go out dancing with his friends, sometimes. They always said he looked like a completely different person if he just slicked back his hair and didn’t wear glasses; he hopes that maybe this attempt at a “disguise” might help him stay under the radar, not notable as Dr. Katsuki.

After all, he doesn’t want anyone to see him, doesn’t want anyone to know that he’s the one doing the thing he’s about to do. He can’t use any devices that are connected to him, either, in case Sonya gets a notification from the Aetherium’s system that someone accessed her records. He’s already memorized and deleted the video from his phone—it’s better to be safe than sorry—and as he walks, hands in his pockets and head held high, he traces it into his palm with his thumb, over and over so he doesn’t forget: _291159815, 291159815_.

The library is quiet and mostly empty, its large, domed glass ceiling rising to lofty heights and letting in the fading turquoise light from today’s cloudy sky and its golden backdrop. Yuuri takes a moment to admire the view—the library is made from polished green stone and golden metal, and the blue-green of the sky looks magnificent against it—before he heads downstairs to the basement, where he knows the cubicles with computers for public use are.

A thrill of fear and exhilaration combined flutters through him as he sets foot out of the stairwell.

He’s here. He’s really, actually here, and he’s doing this.

He’s doing this.

He’s about to break at _least_ twelve laws. Probably? A lot of laws, at least. The point is, once he does this, there will be no turning back.

A deep breath in, and slowly out. A step forward, and another, and another and another and another, until he finds himself in the secluded, back corner of the basement, pulling out a chair and settling down in front of a waiting holoscreen. It blinks blue at him, welcoming and unassuming, unknowing that he’s about to use it to commit treason against the Aetherium.

Fuck, if he’s going to do this, he might as well get on with it.

Yuuri licks his lips nervously and navigates to the Aetherium’s online archives—they provide a fantastic database, but there are some articles that require clearance to view. He’s always just dismissed those in the past, figuring they just have to do with government safety and things like the protective dome around their city that lets them paint the sky, or data that’s too sensitive to release yet but that should be documented, but…

But now he wonders how many of the pages in the History of Dawnsmere section have been redacted and rewritten. How many references to the origins of the silver plague—the thing that Yuuri himself wrote a paper on last year—have been obliquely erased! How many…

He chews at his lips for a moment and tries to figure out what to search, how to find exactly what he’s looking for. After a second, his mouth dry with anxiety and anticipation, he types in “VKN”.

There are no results found.

Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. Sighing, he tries the silver plague next, and gets redirected to a list of articles that tell him things he already knows, papers he’s already read, and even his _own_ paper. There’s a huge amount of information here, but it’s so carefully curated—he could use Sonya’s credentials now, but what if he does it and doesn’t find anything in time because there would be _so much_ to sort through? He’d have just blown his only chance on nothing!

Hm.

Oh…

VKN’s note was addressed to _him._

Maybe…

Heart in his throat, Yuuri types in his own name.

There’s an article written about him, of course—the biographical section is only a few sentences long, mentioning that he came to Dawnsmere when he was twelve and went to the University of the New Day, and nothing else—and he skims through it, heart pounding so hard he might be shaking in his chair. If he uses Sonya’s credentials here, if he finds something, maybe, maybe…

He taps the button in the corner, for Aetherium use only, and swallows hard as the keypad comes up.

_2-9-1-1-5-9-8-1-5._

_Access Granted _ flashes on the screen for a moment, and then…

Oh, god, and then.

Suddenly, the article is much, much longer—huge chunks of the biographical information section are blocked out and redacted, while the section on his research and discoveries has grown. There’s mentions of the people he’s known to be close to—it’s just Chris and his students, for the most part, and Yuuri bristles, because _why is the Aetherium keeping track of him like this_ —and of his likes and his dislikes, this and that, all the way down.

What the _fuck._

Why is so much of his life “redacted”? Does Sonya not even have clearance to it? Or is it the Aetherium detecting that this is a public access point? He doesn’t understand! Why would he be such a person of interest that the Aetherium would have but not share so much information even among its own workers? What…

But he’s here on a mission. He needs to find out why VKN would have sent _him_ the notebook, specifically. Or how VKN even got into his lab. Or anything—because clearly, not all in Dawnsmere is as it seems, and there’s _much_ more, somewhere below the surface.

He skims down the page, eyes flicking back and forth, until he gets to one of the only non-redacted lines near the end of his biographical section:

_Katsuki worked in a lab and co-authored a paper with a fellow alumnus of the University of the New Day: Viktor Nikiforov._

Viktor Nikiforov…

Who the hell is he, and why does Yuuri not have any recollection of him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU ALL FOR THE ENTHUSIASM AND THE RESPONSE TO THIS FIC!!!! i'm very excited for where it'll be going. :D i hope you continue to enjoy!!!
> 
> and again, please please PLEASE appreciate riki's amazing [art](https://rikichie.tumblr.com/post/174720873962/from-chapter-2-of-a-fly-on-the-wall-by)!!! it's so so so good i die every time i look at it 
> 
> next time: even a small gust of wind can bring a dying ember back to life, and some flames burn too bright to be extinguished so easily...


	3. echoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri runs into a ghost.

The city lights glow neon, pink and orange and red and yellow, like the echoes of today’s flaming sky. It’s dark now, and the lights reflect into quivering, dancing shapes in all the puddles in the street as the rain pours down in sheets. Yuuri stares absently at the big, round drops that roll down the window like tears, tapping his fingers on the edge of the table to the rhythm of the soft electronic music playing over the café speakers.

He’s absolutely terrified.

_Clink,_ goes a spoon against a plate. _Clink,_ a saucer bumping into a mug. _Clink,_ a fork being set down into an empty dish. _Clink, clink, clink, clink. Splash_ goes a car in the street, and _ba-dump_ as it crosses a bump in the road, _clink bump splash clink splash clink bump—_

It’s too much.

He doesn’t want to be here, in downtown Dawnsmere when it’s almost midnight and he has to meet Sonya in less than twelve hours. He doesn’t want to be here, with all this noise and these lights and all this movement. He wants to go home, he wants to curl up in his sheets, he wants to hold his dogs, he wants to cry he wants to scream he wants to run he wants to—

_(curl up in strong, comforting arms and feel kisses pressed into his hair and whispers of assurance murmured against his ear until he finally, finally feels safe again)_

_—_ stop _._

A hand settles on his shoulder, and he flinches violently, banging his elbow into the back of his chair in his sudden panic. It withdraws almost immediately, and he whips around to see Chris standing over him, hands up, brows drawn in concern.

“Yuuri,” he says, frowning. “Are you alright? You look…”

_Terrified? Ready to die? Unprepared? Pathetic and stupid and the wrong person for this and stuck in something way too big and drowning in it and—_

“…scared.”

Yuuri stares at him—his best friend, his _only_ friend—for several seconds, then swallows hard. He can’t—he doesn’t know who he can trust. So he can’t tell Chris. Especially not here. Not in public. He can’t. He just can’t.

“It’s just anxiety,” he lies, licking his dry lips. He really needs to buy some lip balm. Every time he thinks about it, he can’t go shopping, and then he forgets. Fuck. Should he have bought lip balm so he wouldn’t have chapped lips before showing up to the Aetherium? Fuck, he’s going to die, this entire thing is going to _kill him._ “I’m—I’ll be fine.”

Chris looks woefully unconvinced, and the hard knot of tension in Yuuri’s stomach tightens. “Are you sure?” he asks, voice low. “You seemed fine at dance, unless I just didn’t notice, in which case I’m sincerely sorry, Yuuri. I’ll try my best to be a better friend than that. Did anything happen while I was ordering? Do you need anything? I can go get you some water, or…”

“It’s fine,” Yuuri insists, clutching at his sleeve until his knuckles go white. At dance, he didn’t have time to think. Now he does. “I told you. It’s fine. We can just… not. Do anything about it. It’s fine. It’s fine.”

“Okay,” Chris says dubiously, but thankfully, he backs down, rounding the table and pulling out the seat opposite Yuuri. “They said our food will be out in about five minutes.”

“Okay,” Yuuri says with a jerky nod. “Yeah. That’s fine.”

Chris settles down, hooks his heel into the rung of his chair, and considers him with those unnervingly piercing eyes, long enough that Yuuri starts to fidget with the cuff of his sleeve and feels his breaths start to rattle in his chest. He’s a bad liar. Chris is going to see right through him and ask him what’s wrong again, and then he’ll spill everything and Chris will hate him for being a liar and—

“Yuuri,” Chris says, again, and Yuuri tenses.

“I’m _fine.”_

Chris shakes his head. “You’re not,” he says, evenly and conversationally, as if he’s discussing the weather, and Yuuri bites his lip so hard it hurts. “But if you don’t want to talk about it, I’m not going to make you, dear. You should know that by now.”

The breath whooshes from his lungs like he’s been punched in the gut. Fuck. He’s a bad friend. Chris wouldn’t force him. How could he think that of him, after how long they’ve known each other? They’ve been friends since Yuuri was in school…

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his vision blurring, and anxiety flares up all over again because oh, god, no, he can’t start crying in public! Then _everyone_ will know something’s wrong, and it’ll be suspicious and what if someone realizes he’s panicking because—because—

_—because there’s a huge chunk of his life on file that he doesn’t remember and a note written to him by someone who doesn’t exist and he doesn’t understand and he doesn’t know what’s real and—_

—because of _nothing,_ and then he’ll have to carry home the shame of being weak and pathetic enough to doubt his friend’s love for him, and then… and then…

“Don’t be,” Chris says gently, cutting into his thoughts. He purses his lips. “I don’t know what’s troubling you, Yuuri, but whatever it is, you don’t need to apologize for it. I don’t mind.”

“I was fine at dance, though,” Yuuri whispers, wrapping his arms around himself. He wants to be held, but at the same time, the idea of anyone actually touching him is repulsive, and the contrast of revulsion and desperate need makes him almost nauseous. “I wasn’t… I didn’t—I wasn’t a mess like this, when we were dancing. I… I’m not… I shouldn’t be like this right now, just because…”

“When we’re on the pole, we don’t really have a lot of time to get caught up in our heads.” Chris rests his arm on the table, leaning forward slightly. “Not like when we’re sitting at a table and just waiting on our food.”

He’s _right,_ but part of Yuuri still balks at the thought of admitting it. “I… Still, I… should have… should be more… I don’t know…”

“It’s fine, the way you are,” Chris assures. “Hush. You don’t need to apologize. You’re in a stressful position! I know you are, Yuuri!”

A jolt of pure terror flashes through Yuuri, stabbing him in the stomach with the force of ten thousand red-hot bolts of lightning. He _knows?_ “Y-you do?!”

“Of course I know,” Chris soothes. “You have to figure out what might happen with your students, whether you even want to change jobs at all, and what to do with your current projects. That’s a lot to deal with. No wonder you’re stressed!” He chuckles. “Come, mon ami. Would it kill you to be a little easier on yourself?”

The relief is so poignant that Yuuri sags in his seat, the alarm klaxons in his head falling silent so abruptly that the quiet is almost loud. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. It’s okay.

“I… it is a lot,” he admits, shoulders slumping, and looks down into his lap at the wrinkled hem of his shirt, hopelessly rumpled from all his anxious wringing. “I just wish I knew what to do.”

“Follow your heart,” Chris says, offering a gentle, honest smile. “Do what feels right. Do what feels like it’ll make you satisfied and happy.”

Follow his heart?

That would sound like solid advice, except that his heart is a mess of anxiety disordered bullshit, and it’s currently on vacation somewhere in the astral plane, screaming without end.

“But… what if I don’t _know_ what my heart wants?”

“Hmm…”

Chris strokes his chin thoughtfully, gazing out the window into the technicolor night and the pouring rain. Yuuri watches the play of the lights through the water against his skin.

“That’s a good question,” he finally admits, pensive and serious. “You need to do some soul-searching, I suppose. Maybe make a list of pros and cons. What makes you want to go to them? What makes you want to stay? Maybe seeing it all laid out in front of you would make it clear.”

_Don’t trust the Aetherium._ The note flashes across Yuuri’s mind’s eye again, for the thousandth time, and he swallows hard, suddenly wishing their food was here so at least he could have _something_ to do with his hands. He keeps fidgeting with his fourth finger, as if trying to play with a ring he’s never worn.

“I don’t…”

_I don’t trust them,_ he wants to say, but the words stick in his throat. If Chris asks why, he’d have to tell him about the notebook—about VKN—about _Viktor Nikiforov_ —and he… he’s scared.

Chris probably doesn’t know.

Chris probably would take it just as Yuuri has: with shock and horror and confusion.

Chris probably wouldn’t tell the Aetherium that Yuuri broke into their database and read restricted files.

Probably.

Probably, probably, probably.

But this world is confusing and is growing more and more hostile the more he learns, and until he knows where he stands and who he can trust… he can’t trust anyone.

“You don’t what?” Chris asks, gentle and friendly, like he’s always been, like a good friend, like… Yuuri’s best friend. “Do you want to talk about it after all?”

“I don’t know something someone asked me about at work today,” Yuuri blurts out, lying through his teeth with his heart in his throat. He’s an awful liar, but fuck, fuck, _fuck,_ he has to find out if he can trust Chris, he has to know if he can tell him _anything_. “I just remembered it. Uh. Does the name—have you ever heard of someone called ‘Viktor Nikiforov’…?”

Chris thinks for a moment, no recognition in his eyes whatsoever, and shakes his head. “No, sorry. Doesn’t ring a bell. Should it?”

“No,” Yuuri manages, covering up his sick relief with what’s probably a very sad attempt at a smile. “I—a student, not mine, came and asked me about a paper he wrote, but I couldn’t think of any. Sorry. I don’t know why I thought you’d know him.”

Chris laughs and waves it off. “It’s fine! I don’t know him, but there’s no harm in asking. I hope that student gets to the right department eventually.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri says, but he can’t quite manage to laugh back.

* * *

“I don’t want to do this,” Yuuri mutters to Makkachin, sighing as he pulls on his sweater. It’s his favorite sweater—it’s a little too big for him, dyed a deep wine-red color and long enough that the sleeves cover his hands to his knuckles—and it’s cozy and comforting on days when he’s stressed. Like today! Today is a day when he is very stressed.

He glances at the clock. He’s meeting Sonya in less than an hour.

Fuck, he doesn’t want to do this.

Makkachin very understandingly licks a piece of fuzz off his knee, and he sighs, dropping to sit on the carpet and hold her close. “Don’t eat that, Makka.”

Makkachin sighs deeply, echoing him, and lays her chin on his shoulder, and he rubs her back, stifling yet another sigh when he realizes how much he’s been sighing this morning. She likes sitting like this, leaning against him with one of his arms around her back, and when he finally leans back, disquiet settling uneasily in the pit of his stomach, she huffs in displeasure, pawing at his foot.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry.” Yuuri laughs humorlessly and drops a kiss to the top of her curly head. “I would stay if I could. I know, I know. I wanna stay home and cuddle all day too, girl. Believe me, I would if I could.”

Okay. He’s dressed, he had breakfast, he fed and walked the dogs. What does he need to do before leaving? Oh—he grabs his identification keycard and stuffs it in his pocket, then shifts from foot-to-foot, wondering if he’s dressed too formally. Or maybe too informally? He’s wearing some nice slacks and a well-pressed blouse under his comfort sweater. Is that too informal for a tour of the Aetherium? Or is he just dressed up for nothing and will Sonya laugh at him for stressing? Fuck, why didn’t he ask what kind of dress code to expect? God, he really is an idiot sometimes.

He gives the uncertain man in the mirror a nervous glance. “Do I look okay, Makkachin?”

Makkachin rumbles deep in her chest, ears pricking at the sound of her name, and cocks her head to the side. Her tail wags, unsure but inviting, and he melts, rubbing her head and scratching behind her ears again, just as Vicchan trots in from the kitchen and comes over to him.

He scoops Vicchan up for a kiss, and the warmth and weight in his arms pressed against his chest makes him realize just how fast his heart is pounding. Ugh. He hasn’t even left home yet, and he’s a disaster. Did he take his anxiety meds with breakfast—yeah, he did, he put the bottle in his pocket too. Ugh.

Wouldn’t it be nice if this could all just… not happen.

If the mystery of Viktor Nikiforov would just vanish again, if Yuuri could just go back to his nice easy life before he got pulled into it, if he could just feel safe again, for even one day.

Who is Viktor Nikiforov? And why doesn’t he _remember him?_

It’s horrifying, thinking about the article he read, the stub of it that had so much redacted, even on Aetherium clearance. Who is Viktor Nikiforov, and what did he _do_ that the Aetherium—

No. He knows exactly what Viktor Nikiforov did. He knows, and it’s not pretty, and it has him chilled to the bone _._

Viktor Nikiforov discovered something the Aetherium didn’t want him to find. And now he’s gone—erased, as if he never existed. Yuuri is the only one who knows about him, now. Or… Yuuri, and someone up in the Aetherium, someone who gave the order to… to kill him, probably, before erasing him from public consciousness, somehow…

…because apparently, the Aetherium has the power to erase someone from public consciousness, and they’ve _never told anyone._

Yuuri feels sick. Is he jumping to conclusions? Maybe. But according to the Aetherium’s own files, Viktor Nikiforov—whoever he was—is someone Yuuri used to know. And now he doesn’t. Because… Viktor Nikiforov discovered that the Aetherium might have engineered the silver plague, and the Aetherium erased him for it. And they erased him from Yuuri’s _mind,_ after the two of them published a groundbreaking paper about research they did together. A paper that’s now listed in public databases as authored _only_ by Yuuri.

A man he knew has been taken from his memory. What else might they have taken from his mind? Can he even trust anything as real anymore? What other lies have they fed him? Fed everyone? What if—

Vicchan sneezes, jolting him out of his thoughts, and he jerks back to the present, stiffening in surprise. “Ah—oh. Oh. Sorry, Vicchan.”

Vicchan licks his chin, somehow knowing he’s upset. Maybe because he’s on the verge of tears and his heart is pounding so hard that everyone in town can probably hear it? Somehow. Vicchan is a good, sweet boy who’s trying to comfort him, is the point, and fuck, he really, really wants to break down and cry.

But he has to leave soon.

Shuddering, he walks out of his bedroom, bouncing Vicchan on his hip like a baby, and Makkachin follows, trotting patiently at his heels. “I need… I have to leave, darlings.”

They might not understand the words, but they know what it means when he walks toward the door without bringing their leashes: he’s leaving them. Makkachin’s tail droops, and Vicchan wriggles in his arms, whining in a way that tugs at his heart.

“I know, baby,” Yuuri mumbles, kissing the top of his head. “I’ll be home soon, though, okay? I promise. And then we’ll go out for another W-A-L-K, and then we’ll stay in and it’ll be a nice night. Okay? Okay, Vicchan? Okay, little one?”

Since he spelled the word out instead of saying it, neither dog gets bouncy and excited in anticipation of a second walk. Vicchan just licks his ear before he sets him down and pulls on his shoes, and then he has to say goodbye to both of their adorable faces as he closes the door.

Man, this is easily the hardest part of owning dogs: Leaving said dogs.

He sighs again, looking at his closed door, and takes a deep breath to steady himself. Then he squares his shoulders.

He’s Dr. Yuuri Katsuki, eminent scientist and city-renowned researcher, a representative of the top of the Academy’s class. Nobody actually knows he’s an anxious wreck. They won’t be expecting him to be one. So if he just _pretends_ he’s not one, they won’t notice a thing. Right?

That barely makes logical sense, even in his own head. But maybe it’ll still work.

…Hopefully.

By the time he makes his way down to the street, the sun is up in the magenta sky, illuminating the midmorning city in beams of dazzling gold. He only spares the spectacular view a moment’s glance, too caught up in his own thoughts to really pay much attention, and focuses more on putting one foot in front of the other all the way to the café.

Sonya isn’t there yet, and that puts him in an unreasonably foul mood. He _could’ve_ spent an extra minute with his dogs. But that’s a stupid thing to be upset about, so he orders some tea and settles down at a table to wait, trying not to fidget in ways that make it very clear that he’s fidgety. She’ll be here any minute now, of course. He has to look the part.

And sure enough, after maybe two minutes, she appears, her bright red hair piled into a bun atop her head today. “Yuuri!” she sings. “There you are! I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long.”

“No, no,” he assures, hoping he doesn’t sound as stiff as he feels. “I only just got here, really.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” She flashes him a bright smile. “Did you already eat? Or do you want to get food before we head up? Oh, I can’t _wait!_ Everyone’s so excited to meet you! We’ll all have a banquet lunch an hour or so past noon. It’s going to be so _fun!_ I hope this convinces you to join us. Really, I think you’re gonna fit right in, and everyone’s going to _love_ you! I can just tell!”

_Don’t trust the Aetherium,_ whispers Viktor Nikiforov’s ghost.

Yuuri swallows hard.

“Oh, that makes me feel better,” he says, offering a weak smile.

Luckily, Sonya takes his reluctance as hesitance, patting his arm and cooing sympathetically. “Aww, don’t be shy, Yuuri! I promise, it’s going to be _great._ ”

Yuuri fumbles for an excuse, something, anything that he can say to keep her from asking if he’s actually alright, because he’s so nervous he might collapse and die on the spot, and he’s so damn _awful_ at lying. It ties his stomach up into knots and twists until he can’t breathe and he’s an anxious mess and… and…

“How many people, exactly, am I meeting today?” he blurts out, as if that’s what’s making him apprehensive, and the sympathy in her face grows.

“Not a people person, are you, Yuuri?”

“Not really.” He lets out an awkward laugh, glancing at her hand still on his arm, and wonders if it would be overly rude to brush her off. He doesn’t like her touching him. “I mean… I’m sure you saw that, when I wouldn’t stop talking about my dogs before…”

Sonya giggles. “Oh, but they were so _cute!_ I’d never mind hearing about such sweet, fluffy babies. How are they doing, by the way?”

She’s _still_ touching him. The butterflies in his stomach are flapping their wings hard enough to create a hurricane, and he wants to shudder out of his own skin. “They—they’re doing fine, um… they didn’t… they didn’t want me to leave, this morning. They always hate it when I have to leave them at home.”

“Awww.” Sonya shakes her head, _finally_ moving her hand away. “Poor things. Next time we meet, why don’t we sit outside? You can bring them! I’d love to meet them.”

_I would literally shoot myself in the foot before I’d let you lay a hand on either of them,_ Yuuri thinks fiercely. Makkachin and Vicchan are his babies, his best friends, and his world. Sonya  and her fucking Aetherium friends will _not_ touch them.

“Sure,” he says, pasting on what he hopes is a convincing, amiable smile. “They always love going on walks.”

“They sound so _cute,_ ” Sonya sighs. Then she perks up, eyes widening, and claps her hands. “But Yuuri! You never did answer my question. Have you eaten yet? Do you want to order anything?”

Yuuri shakes his head, relieved at the change in topic. He doesn’t like the idea of someone he can’t trust wanting to touch his dogs. They’re innocent. They can’t get dragged into this mess, like him. “I ate at home. This tea is fine. Do you want to get anything?”

“I’ll get a coffee,” Sonya decides, tapping away at the holoscreen. “Just a moment for that, and then we’ll be off! Are you excited?”

“Kind of nervous,” Yuuri answers, truthful. Part of him recoils at the idea of being honest with her, but part of him hates himself for that. She wants to be his friend, doesn’t she? Can’t he give her the benefit of the doubt? She probably doesn’t know about what Viktor Nikiforov discovered.

…Probably.

No. That’s wishful thinking. It was her access code that Yuuri used to find out Viktor’s name to begin with, so…

His gut twists. He can’t trust her. He can’t trust her, but he can’t let her know that he doesn’t trust her, either. He’s walking the high wire, and it’s a long way down.

“Oh, Yuuri,” Sonya sighs, something akin to pity shining in her eyes. Yuuri has to resist the physical urge to step away before she can touch him again—and she does, petting his arm so patronizingly that a little burst of nausea surges in his throat. “Don’t worry so much! I promise, nobody’s going to judge you. We’re all very excited that you’ll be joining us!”

That he _will_ be joining them? He’s said time and time again that he doesn’t know if he wants to. And here she is, assuming that because of this stupid tour, he’s going to say yes. Irritation flares up.

But almost immediately, it gives way to fear. What if they _make_ him? What if they say that now that he’s seen the inside of their facilities, now that he’s seen what makes the Aetherium what it is, he’s _required_ to work for them, or else… or else… he doesn’t _know_ what else, but the idea that he doesn’t know what threat might be held over his head is even more terrifying than a concrete consequence, and he feels anxiety’s familiar cold hands encircle his throat, arms constricting his chest, threatening to strangle him in a horrifying mimicry of a lover’s embrace.

“Oh!” Sonya says, pulling him back into the present. “I didn’t give you an answer, did I? Silly me.”

Yuuri, who by this time has already quite forgotten what he asked, blinks. “Ah… right.”

“You’ll probably meet around… hmm. Thirty people, total?” she estimates, tapping her chin in thought. “That sounds about right. There’s ten ministers who made time in their schedules to meet you—that’ll be at the banquet—and then the virology lab staff all want to meet you, too! You’ll be touring their lab in particular, plus any of the other microbiology labs if you’d like—the only one that’s off-limits is the neurobiology one, because they’re running a test today that can’t be interrupted—and they’re all _very_ excited that you’re coming. You’re something of a celebrity, you know!”

Well.

He certainly thought the highest number of people he’d meet today would be, say, five.

Thirty is a bit… much…

God, he wishes he had someone with him. This would be so much less terrifying if he had someone he could trust. What happened to Viktor Nikiforov? How long ago did they kill him?

He almost wants to turn to her and just ask, _What did you do to Viktor?_ , just to see her reaction. Just to see the shock in her eyes as the blood drains from her face and she wonders how in the world he found out. But that would be showing his hand, and he _can’t._ He’s on the high wire, and he can’t jump. There’s no safety net to catch him.

“Okay,” he finally says, wondering if he took too long to reply. “That sounds… that’ll be fine.”

“Don’t worry,” Sonya says, wrinkling her nose. Her coffee arrives with a little _beep_ from the server, and she takes it without a second glance, raising it to her lips for a moment. “Nobody expects you to remember every single person’s name after just meeting them once.” She winks. “That’s what the second, third, and fourth meetings will be for! Right?”

“…Right,” Yuuri says weakly. He absolutely does _not_ want to ever go to the Aetherium again, but it’s not worth arguing right now.

God, he wants to disappear. Why is this happening?

After a moment more in the café, Yuuri gets a refill of his tea in the hopes that it’ll soften the feeling of doom in the pit of his stomach, and they finally leave. Sonya leads him to her car, a sleek, indigo affair with huge windows, and gestures to him to get in. “Come on, Yuuri! We’ll take the scenic route in. That way you get to see _all_ the sights.”

Yuuri nods, staring out the window so that he doesn’t have to look at her. “That sounds fun.”

Almost immediately, he cringes. _That sounds fun?_ What is he, five years old? What kind of response was that?

Luckily, Sonya doesn’t comment, just pulling out of the parking space and directing the computer to go to the Aetherium’s main gate. Yuuri watches the familiar scenery of the neighborhood café and nearby park fade into the distance, closing his eyes as dread coils around his heart like a dragon and makes itself cozy in his chest.

The ride is, thankfully, almost entirely silent. Sonya takes pity on him, perhaps, and puts on some music so that they don’t have to make conversation as the car heads toward the center of the city. Eventually, it leaves the small roads of the university quarter and joins the hoverways, and hundreds of vehicles zoom into the sky, flying in synchronized streams to their destinations.

Dawnsmere is a city built in rings, with the Aetherium at its very heart. It rises majestically over the city center, a huge building topped with a shimmering, crystalline dome, garnished in silver and gold and glimmering turquoise, that reflects the morning sun like a thousand diamonds. Yuuri watches as it looms closer, surrounded by tall, gnarled trees bearing bough after bough full of blossoms, and wonders how it is that something so beautiful can hide a secret so horrifying.

The Aetherium—Dawnsmere itself, by extension—was built on the deaths of thousands of people. The silver plague…

_The City of a Thousand Dreams,_ the huge plaque above the doors reads, in letters big and bold to be seen from afar. Inspiring, perhaps. But Yuuri can’t help but stare at it, revulsion rising in his throat. A thousand dreams? More like a thousand deaths and a rotting, disgusting corpse under the heart of the city. The dreams are nothing but a disguise.

And here he is, going into the den of the lions.

“I always love seeing the sun on the dome,” Sonya sighs, smiling at the sight. “It’s so gorgeous. Reminds me of everything that makes Dawnsmere such a great place, you know?”

“Mm,” Yuuri mumbles noncommitally. He’s trying too hard to keep himself from throwing up to be able to answer more than that.

Sonya’s car soars through the sky and enters through an opening in the dome, just above its lower brim in the back, and then they’re inside the glitter and the silver and the gold and the glamour, settling down to park in an area that might as well be a… a park. It’s grassy and green and smells like flowers as Yuuri opens the door and steps out, breathing hard, and from somewhere nearby, he can hear the sound of running water, like a merry little tinkling stream.

“Here we are,” Sonya says brightly, coming around to join him. “I tell you, Yuuri, working here is a dream come true. Literally—just look at this place! And we’re here to help all of Dawnsmere feel just as great as we do. It’s the best of both worlds!”

His heart sinks. With every word that comes out of her mouth, he remembers, again, what horrifying things the Aetherium has done and how much he cannot possibly trust her. Is this place some kind of luxurious cult? Do they really think that they’re doing good? They killed so many people just to get in power!

“It certainly is quite a sight,” he finally says, keeping his voice as neutral as he can. The architecture is beautiful, to be sure: it combines trees and vines and flowers and nature with artistic, sharp lines and corners, and the shimmering dome rising over their heads makes the fuchsia sky shine like it’s full of ten thousand tiny stars. It’s a marvel of engineering and creativity, a reminder of just what the people who made Dawnsmere can do. It’s a sign, a symbol, a representation that the thousand dreams can become reality.

It makes Yuuri nauseous.

“Well!” Sonya chirps, linking her arm through his. “Why don’t we get started on the tour? The labs are this way. I’m so excited to show you everything!”

Helpless, he lets her lead the way.

The first lab they enter is, as promised, the virology lab. Yuuri sees the sign above the door as they approach down a long, glistening hallway—literally, the floors and the walls are made of iridescent, pale green marble streaked with gold, as if the entire place has to remind everyone in its doors just how opulent and beautiful it is at all times—and tries to breathe, to relax. At least a virology lab is a place he’s familiar with. At least he’ll see instruments and equipment that will feel more like home than the rest of this extravagant, rich nightmare.

They enter to silence.

Eyes, all around the room, swivel to them—to _him_ —and for a single, terrifying moment hanging by a thread, everything is still, and ten thousand spotlights highlight every insecurity in his body and mind as he stands there, frozen—

—and then the room bursts into chatter.

“Dr. Katsuki!” someone booms, and a tall, broad-shouldered man steps forward, beaming. “We’re so glad you could make it today!”

He holds out his hand, welcoming, smiling smiling smiling. Yuuri stares up into his green eyes (green, like the marble in the floors, like the sparkling opulence that hides the horror) and thinks, Y _ou know. You work here. You_ know _what they did, and you smile to welcome me._

He has to force himself to take the offered hand and shake it. “Thank you for having me.”

“We’re honored you’re here to see us!” the man says, clasping his hand and pumping it up and down, enthusiastic as if this building doesn’t hide the secrets and deaths of hundreds, of thousands, of people. “I’m Dr. Miles Morto. It’s a pleasure to meet you, truly.”

Yuuri pastes on a smile that he does not feel, not in the slightest. “The pleasure is all mine, I’m sure.”

This place is so alien, so extravagant, so opulent in all its glitter and glamour and gold, that Yuuri has to suppress a shiver. He looks around, and he just feels so, so cold.

As they lead him through the lab, showing him the facilities and his potential workbench, excited as can be, he has to consciously fight the urge to wrap his arms around himself, cold and afraid. He can’t stop thinking about Viktor. Who was he? Why doesn’t he remember him? Did he see this place in all its frigid splendor before they killed him?

_God,_ he thinks, biting the inside of his lip so hard tears spring to his eyes. _I don’t know him, but I almost miss him._

_I should know him._

And that’s—that’s possibly the most chilling part of all, he knows, watching a centrifuge vibrate and hum. He should know Viktor, but he doesn’t. Someone, somehow… took those memories away from him.

There’s a lab notebook on one of the shelves, haphazardly leaning against the pipette rack next to it, and absently, Yuuri reaches to adjust it. Before his fingers can brush the spine, however, Dr. Morto smoothly cuts in and pulls it away, smiling indulgently like a parent to an erring child. Something about his patronizing laugh makes Yuuri bristle under his skin.

“Ah-ah, I’m afraid I can’t let you look through our research notes, Dr. Katsuki,” he says, shaking his head. “That’s classified material! But come back once you’ve got the official clearance to work with me, and by all means I’d love to let you take a peek.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says, forcing another smile. “Of course.”

He needs to keep up his charade, needs to pretend that he’s actively interested in pursuing the job here but is concerned about his students. But all he wants to do is go _home._ He’s cold and he’s scared and he doesn’t want to be here!

The minutes drag on into an hour, and Sonya eagerly introduces him to first all of Morto’s laboratory staff and students, and then the next lab, and then the one after that, until Yuuri wants to sink into the floor and sob from how afraid he is. This entire place feels foreign and wrong— _the Aetherium manufactured the silver plague_ —and the idea of people who work here, who know exactly what they’ve done, laughing and joking and being lighthearted as if it’s not utterly horrific, makes him feel sick to his stomach.

They all know. They all have to know. They have the same clearance Sonya has, if not more. And Sonya knows about Viktor. And Viktor disappeared because of what he discovered.

Yuuri stares across the courtyard in the center of the complex. There’s a statue in its very middle, some abstract art form commemorating the original founders of the Aetherium, the people who came up with the “cure” for the silver plague and founded a safe city. The fountain around it plays a gentle melody of splashes and waves, and the flowers growing amidst the beds under the dome’s multitude of lights offer warmth and color. By all rights, it should be a beautiful, calm sight.

He really, really thinks he might throw up.

“So!” Sonya says, finishing the courtyard tour _(finally)_ sitting down and patting the bench beside her. “Here we are. We can take a few minutes and wander, if you’d like, or we can just sit, or we can go ahead and go to the banquet room! Lunch will start in around twenty minutes, so we’ve got a little time.”

She smiles again, too big and too bright, and Yuuri has to just thank his lucky stars that she doesn’t touch him again. He needs… he needs… holy shit, he can’t go to a banquet. He’ll die. He has to meet the _ministers—_ the actual descendants of the original Aetherium council, the ones who make the legislation and who—who must have decided to kill Viktor—and then eat with them? He’ll actually _die._

“Um,” he manages, hating his voice and hating the way it feels in his throat. “I actually—is there a restroom nearby?”

“Oh! Of course!” Sonya hops up again. “Right this way.”

She leads him back inside, through a different door than the one they came out from. Yuuri looks around, a little curious but mostly dead inside and made of a mixture of anxiety and nausea, and bites his lip again.

“This is more of a legislative part of the complex,” Sonya explains, her shoes clicking against the floor. “Whenever you transfer over here, you probably won’t really be involved in this area, except to get permits and such for special orders.”

“I see,” Yuuri says. Every single person here has been acting like his transfer is confirmed, and he suspects that even if he _didn’t_ know how disgusting this place is, their insistence would annoy him so much it would put him off accepting the job regardless.

“Yup! And also the head of—”

_Bweeeeee!_

An alarm begins to blare, suddenly, and both Yuuri and Sonya freeze in the hallway as red lights flash overhead. Yuuri, overwhelmed by the noise, stumbles back against the hall, while Sonya whips out a holoscreen from the bracelet on her wrist. Whatever she reads isn’t good, because her eyes widen.

“Ah—I’m so sorry to leave you, Yuuri, but there’s something urgent that I need to help attend to,” she says, stepping back. “The restroom is the first door on your left once you go around the corner up ahead! Just wait there, I’ll come get you in a minute!”

Without even waiting for his confirmation, she turns and sprints away, leaving him wide-eyed and trying not to hyperventilate in the corridor. What is happening, what the fuck is happening, can he please go home oh god this whole place is hostile and wrong and he doesn’t want to be stuck here, he doesn’t want to be here he doesn’t want to die here—

Restroom. Right. Restroom. Hopefully it’s deserted. He can—he can hide there, can fall apart and put himself back together before she comes back, can… can…

Yuuri runs.

He scrambles around the corner, sees the door, and all but throws himself inside, lurches to the sink, and gasps at the mirror, shaking so hard his knees threaten to give out. He waves his hand to the scanner to start the water running, and then he cups his hands under it and splashes it on his face, one, two, three times. It’s cool, almost cold, and he splutters and gasps as it runs down his skin, but it does the trick, helping him ground himself instead of panicking so hard that his soul leaves his fucking body like it so desperately wants to.

_Breathe,_ he reminds himself, staring at his hands, braced on the shiny, marble countertop. _Breathe, breathe, breathe. Slowly. Breathe._

It’s only partially effective, because he’s still terrified and he still doesn’t belong here, but he manages to get himself back under control enough that he thinks he can fake being alright again. He can just say… he ate a big breakfast, and then he can pick at his food until the banquet is over. That should work.

The alarm in the hallway is still going off when he pokes his head out of the restroom, stepping timidly back into the hall in case Sonya has come back to collect him. He doesn’t _want_ to deal with her company, but a familiar face during a terrifying incident, no matter how annoying, is better than facing it alone.

Footsteps start to echo from the hallway, though, running footsteps that pound against the floor, and he tenses. They don’t sound like Sonya’s heeled boots—they sound much heavier, and for a moment he’s deathly afraid that it’s a huge, burly armed guard, come to arrest and kill him for knowing the secret this building hides.

But it isn’t a guard of any sort that comes barreling around the corner.

A tall man, with silvery hair and a determined look, careens around the corner from the main hallway and runs directly into Yuuri, who yelps and stumbles backward, already unsteady on his feet. His knees almost give out, except—

_“Yuuri?”_ the man gasps, and then his arms are wrapped _tight tight tight_ around him, clutching him close, and Yuuri, for reasons that he cannot possibly articulate, almost bursts into tears as his body hugs him back, almost of its own volition. Who—what—

He lifts his head, and then his eyes go wide, because wait—that silver hair, those blue eyes, this face, he _recognizes_ them from the pages he read with Sonya’s clearance, he knows this man, this is—this is—

“Viktor?” he gasps out, and Viktor’s eyes widen too, his brows knitting together. “You—you’re _alive?”_

The breath whooshes out of Viktor’s chest as if he’s been punched. “Oh, god, you thought I was dead this whole time?” he whispers, hugging him tight again. “No—no, I’m here, Yuuri, Yuuri—”

“It’s not safe,” Yuuri says frantically, bursting with questions. Fuck, why does Viktor hold him so tight, and why does it make him feel _better_ instead of worse, fuck, fuck! “You—you can’t be here, they’ll hunt you down, you have to _go!”_

“I know, I know,” Viktor says, rubbing his shoulders. “You’re shaking. God. Oh, Yuu—”

More footsteps start to echo down the hallway, _many_ footsteps, and Yuuri’s eyes widen again. “Viktor, you have to hide!” he hisses, wriggling out of Viktor’s arms no matter how much he wants to stay, and then, because the hallway is too long for Viktor to make it around the next corner unseen, Yuuri shoves him through the restroom door and stands in front of it, as if he’s waiting for Sonya.

Three guards round the corner, tall and imposing. The shortest one of them is Yuuri’s height, and they could all probably kill him, and, and…

“Dr. Katsuki,” one of them says, nodding in greeting. “What are you doing here?”

“I—I asked Sonya where a restroom was, and then she told me to wait here until she got back,” he answers, cursing himself for stuttering. He can’t look nervous—

—or can he?

“I—is everything alright?” he asks, fidgeting with his sleeve, looking around, and trying to look as small as possible so they pity him, _please_ pity him and trust him and _go away_. Viktor is behind this door, Viktor, and—and he needs Viktor, he needs him to explain what’s happening! “Is… is it safe?”

The guard who first addressed him softens. “Yes, it’s safe,” he says. “There’s been some activity in one of the legislative departments that wasn’t cleared, but it’s most likely it’s just a glitch in the system. Don’t worry. You haven’t seen anyone suspicious come this way, have you?”

Yuuri shakes his head, wide-eyed. “No. Is—is anyone here that shouldn’t be?”

“Not at all,” the guard says, lying, because they’re clearly chasing Viktor. “We’re just asking to make sure. I’m sure Sonya will be back soon. Just stay here, and don’t wander off. Thank you for your cooperation, Dr. Katsuki.”

They walk away, boots clanking on the floor. Yuuri waits for several seconds after the last of their echoes have faded until he lets his breath out, slipping back into the bathroom.

Viktor is there, upset, standing behind the door. He steps out as Yuuri whispers “It’s me,” his face drawn into something resembling confused, silent despair.

“Dr. Katsuki?” he repeats. “Did you—you aren’t…” and his gaze falls near Yuuri’s hand, and he stiffens. Yuuri follows his gaze, confused and still scared, but he doesn’t understand. “Yuuri?”

“It’s not safe,” Yuuri whispers. “You have to go. Sonya will be back any minute. Please. It’s not safe.”

_“Sonya?”_ Viktor steps back as if he’s been struck. “You mean Sonya _Almandine?_ Yuuri, what’s going _on,_ please, _talk to me,_ I can’t do this alone—”

“You’re not,” Yuuri insists, stepping forward again, clasping his hands. “Viktor, you have to go!”

“Why are you _calling_ me that?” Viktor cries, his voice soft and his eyes too-bright. “Yuuri—”

“Yuuri!” Sonya’s voice drifts through the door, before there’s a sharp rap. “Are you still in there?”

His eyes never leaving Viktor’s face, Yuuri swallows hard and calls back, “Yes, I’ll be out in just a second!”

“Please,” Viktor whispers.

“Go,” Yuuri whispers back, letting go to step to the sink again, turning on the water to cover up their voices. “Find me tonight.”

Viktor gives him a long, long look, then reaches for the lock on the window, pushing it open. “I’ll be in touch,” he promises, and then he’s gone.

Yuuri takes a deep, shaky breath, staring after him, and splashes water over his face again.

When he leaves the restroom, Sonya is waiting, impeccable smile back in place. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he says, looking up at the flashing lights. “I was just—it’s loud out here, so I waited there. Is everything okay? I saw some guards, but…”

“Oh, yeah,” she laughs, waving a hand. “It was nothing big, actually. There was a malfunction in the alarm code, and we all reacted like it was a big deal. But it’s all fine, don’t worry!”

“Alright,” Yuuri says, but he knows she’s lying.

“Shall we go to the banquet?” she asks, as the lights stop flashing and the alarm finally stops blaring overhead. “It’s still on, don’t worry!”

The warmth of Viktor’s embrace, of his hands when Yuuri held them, lingers. It chases away the ever-present chill just enough that Yuuri can lift his chin a little. “Sure,” he says. “We can do that.”

“Great!” Sonya chirps.

He has to make it through the banquet. After that, he can go home. When he goes home, he can curl up with his dogs and cry until he feels more like a human being again.

And after that, hopefully, he’ll _finally_ get some answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'm gonna try and update biweekly," I said, six weeks ago,,,,
> 
> ANYWAY!!! I SWEAR i'm going to have an update schedule sometime soon, i PROMISE. thank you all for sticking with this and for being so excited and enthusiastic!!! i'm so excited for where we're going!! 
> 
> as always: PLS APPRECIATE [RIKI'S ART](https://rikichie.tumblr.com/post/176114501142/chapter-3-of-a-fly-on-the-wall-by) IT IS SO HECKING GOOD!!!
> 
> next time: some things shrouded in shadow are finally brought to light.


	4. smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri meets an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some Heavy Anxiety and mentions of minor character deaths!

Viktor Nikiforov never comes that night.

Yuuri sits on the couch until the early hours of the morning, one hand rhythmically stroking through Makkachin’s fur as she snores beside him while the other rests on Vicchan’s head. He’s nervous. That doesn’t come as any sort of surprise, because—well, because he’s had quite a day, between going to the Aetherium itself and having lunch with Aetherium officials while _knowing_ what they’ve done, and helping with the escape of a fugitive.

But knowing that he has a valid reason to be afraid doesn’t help him be any less afraid, and he sits tense with his dogs curled up on either side of his lap, worrying that somehow the Aetherium will know that he saw Viktor and _lied_ about it. Maybe they pulled the data from the cameras. They _must_ have. Of course they would have, and they would have seen Viktor fling his arms around Yuuri and they would have seen Yuuri talk to him and—

But why _haven’t_ they come to arrest him yet? To throw him in a cell and wipe him from public memory the way they erased Viktor. God… if Viktor had a family, before he disappeared, what must they be going through? He disappeared without a trace… or if there was a trace, it was forcibly erased. And he seemed to know Yuuri, but Yuuri doesn’t know him, and that’s terrifying in ways he really, really doesn’t want to think about yet, and, and…

…And he keeps thinking in circles about how he hasn’t been caught. They have to know he saw Viktor, right? They _have_ to.

Yuuri doesn’t realize he’s crying until Vicchan’s ears twitch, and the poodle lifts his head with a quiet whine, clambering into Yuuri’s lap to snuffle and lick his chin.

“Oh,” Yuuri whispers, his voice cracking. “Oh. Vicchan, little one, what will they do to you if they take me away?”

Vicchan licks his chin again, lapping away the salty tears dangling there, and Yuuri is hard pressed to swallow a big, choking sob. Who would take care of his dogs? What would happen to them if he got erased, too? What would—what would they _do?_

_Why has Viktor not come?_

He was supposed to come here. He _said_ he would. He was supposed to come and explain everything, so that Yuuri could finally, _finally_ stop living in fear. He was supposed to give him some kind of reassurance, hope, direction— _something!_ But he didn’t.

A different fear rises up: maybe they caught him. Maybe they caught him, and they’ve stuffed him back into wherever they had him, and they’re going to—they’ll…

…Why _didn’t_ they kill him already? Yuuri doesn’t understand. Wouldn’t it make sense, if he knows their most dangerous secret? Why keep him alive? There has to be some kind of reason. Why didn’t they wipe his memory, though? The way they wiped everyone else’s? There’s something else here that he’s not seeing.

There’s always something else! This just gets deeper and deeper and deeper, and he’s—forget being in over his head, he’s in so deep he can’t even tell which way the surface is, anymore. He’s so scared he can’t move. Why did he have to discover the notebook? Why did the Aetherium have to take notice of him? Why did he have to write that damn paper?

The paper he wrote… with Viktor.

Sudden, profound sadness rises up, punching him in the chest with the force of a ten-ton truck, and he gasps aloud as the tears abruptly start to fall again, the swallowed sob wrenching itself from his throat. Who is Viktor? Where is he? Why did—he hugged him earlier, and it—and it was good, and somehow it _didn’t_ make him panic even though he hates being touched when he’s having an anxious breakdown, and, and why was Viktor’s touch soothing when he doesn’t _remember_ him?

“Makkachin,” Yuuri whimpers, because she’s awake now, awake and worried and sticking her nose in his face to try and lick it back to happiness. “Makka—Makkachin, I don’t remember him, but I should. I _know_ I should.”

Makkachin whines softly as Vicchan paws at his stomach, laying down in an attempt to be warm and soothing. Yuuri cries harder. Do _they_ know Viktor? If he coauthored a paper with him, if he knew him well enough that even after—after whatever happened to his memories, there’s something that lingers that makes him feel familiar—did he ever introduce Viktor to the dogs? Do they know him? Have they been wondering where Yuuri’s tall friend went, all this time?

“All this time”. That’s yet another thing he doesn’t know, and it makes him shudder with the force of a new round of tears. How long has Viktor been gone? He has no way of knowing.

“I don’t know anything about Viktor,” he whispers to both of them. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know! What did they do to me? Wh-what did they _do?”_

He doesn’t know anything. He’s so scared—please, please, he just wants some kind of security, _someone_ other than his dogs that he can rely on. He needs to take care of them, needs to keep them safe! How can he do that when he’s adrift in a sea of uncertainty, and he doesn’t know how to find land?

(He can’t.)

(But he doesn’t want to admit that, even to himself.)

He’s spent enough time crying. There’s nothing he can _do._ He just wants to run away from all of this, but there’s nowhere to go. The land outside Dawnsmere’s bubble is barren and bleak and empty, and it already took his family from him—he still remembers the day Mari disappeared, vanishing alone somewhere out in the wasteland, less than a week before his parents died (is nowhere safe? The outside is harsh and took his family, and the inside is the reason for that! Nowhere is safe, nowhere is safe, and there’s no point!)—but.

But.

But he _can’t_ get into those memories now, or he’ll have another fifty-seven breakdowns and die, and he can’t die until he has someone to take care of the dogs.

The tea on the table in front of him has long since gone cold, but Yuuri doesn’t care. He takes it, gulps half of it down, and wipes at his eyes, trying to steady his breathing. This is the—fuck it, he’s lost count of how many breakdowns this whole thing has given him—and he’s exhausted, and Viktor isn’t coming, and he has students to meet with tomorrow.

“We should go to bed,” he whispers, not sure if he’s talking to himself or the dogs. Probably the dogs. It sounds less pathetic. “We should go to bed. Let’s just… let’s get some rest. I have to go out tomorrow, and I’m sure you both are tired of sitting here and listening to me cry, right?”

Vicchan looks up dolefully and thumps his tail against Yuuri’s stomach. Makkachin yawns.

Yuuri kisses both of their heads and finally gets up, pulling his cozy red sweater more tightly around himself as he stumbles to his bedroom, somewhere between distraught and numb. “Let’s sleep,” he manages, voice cracking as he goes into the bathroom to wash his face. “Let’s just sleep. Maybe this is just a bad dream, and it’ll all go away in the morning.”

(It doesn’t.)

* * *

Yuuri arrives to work exhausted, sad, and in a state of minor existential despair. It’s fine, though. It’s fine. That’s just his life now. It’s fine. He’s fine. He’s dying and there’s no point to anything, and he slept on his panic and woke up numb, and it’s fine. It’s fine! It’s fine.

(It is not fine and he craves the sweet, sweet embrace of the void, but his students don’t have to know that.)

“Good morning, Yuuri!” Mila sings, breezing into the lab with a tray of clean glassware, fresh from the autoclave. “Oof, you have eyebags the size of my grandma’s purse collection. What time did you get to sleep?”

“Thanks,” Yuuri says drily, swallowing his dread and breakdowns and numbness because he’s here as a researcher and a mentor to his kids, not to cry on them about whatever the _fuck_ is happening in his personal life. (Does that count as his personal life? Probably not. Whatever. He doesn’t _have_ a personal life.) “I don’t know, I made it eventually. Have you done your readings on the aggregate samples today?”

“Not yet!” She glances at the clock on the wall. “It’ll be twenty-four hours exactly in ten minutes, so I’ll do them then.”

“Sounds good.” Yuuri nods. “Hm. Hey, Mila, I’m gonna make some coffee. Want some?”

“I want some!” Kenjirou wails from behind a bag of pipette tips and a stack of empty boxes. “Please, Yuuri!”

Yuuri gives him a sympathetic, amused look, trying to make himself relax. This is familiar—banter and lab equipment and the clinical scent of antiseptic. “Is it your turn on tip boxes today?”

Kenjirou sighs. “Yeah.”

“Oh, thanks for answering the professor, Mila,” Mila teases him, shaking her head. “I’ll drink some, too, though!”

“Fantastic.” Yuuri turns to head out of the lab. The coffeepot (and the rest of the kitchenette) are in the common area outside his office—no food allowed in the lab—and he sorely needs some caffeine in order to survive the day, but the empty desk catches his attention, and he pauses in the doorway. “Where’s Yuri? I don’t see him around. Is he bothering Christophe again?”

“What? Again?” Mila looks amused. “I didn’t know there was a first time.”

“Well,” Yuuri sighs, “I guess it’s more accurate to say Chris was bothering him. But that’s semantics, I suppose.”

“I haven’t seen him this morning,” Kenjirou calls from the back bench. “He’s probably just running late. Not a morning person, you know?”

Yuuri snorts. “Right. Well, I’ll make extra coffee, and if he doesn’t show up, you guys can have it. I’ll leave it in the pot, first-come, first-serve.”

“Cool,” Mila says. The glassware clinks as she starts to put it away, lining flasks up neatly on the shelf. Yuuri watches for half a moment longer before he turns and goes to fill up the coffeepot.

As the water rises to the full line, he breathes out, slow and controlled. The Aetherium hasn’t touched this place (yet). Everything here still feels the same, feels normal, feels… safe. Even if it’s just for a couple of hours, he can pretend everything is okay.

(Viktor Nikiforov might have worked alongside him in this lab, as they wrote the paper together. Viktor Nikiforov could have fit in, laughing and joking with his students. Viktor Nikiforov—)

The water overflows, spilling over his hands into the sink, and Yuuri jerks himself back to reality with a gasp. None of this—none of the nonsense happening out there, away from his office and his lab, out in his apartment and in the center of Dawnsmere and around it all—none of that is allowed here. This is a sacred place, a sanctum, his island amidst the storm.

He turns the water off, pours the excess down the drain, and puts the coffee to boil, wiping his hands on his cardigan before he enters his office and slumps into his desk chair.

He’s so tired.

The walls of his office are so… blank. They seem to lean in, ominous and looming, encouraging him to unpack his panic again, to think and think and think, and after a few minutes of aimless staring, he has to close his eyes against the flood of thoughts. Can’t he just have a few hours of peace? Can’t he just… can’t he feel safe, _anywhere?_

Maybe he should put up some nice photos on these walls. Maybe that’d be a good distraction.

Of course, he doesn’t, sitting there with his face in his hands as the seconds drag into minutes that drip by like slow, fat drops of molasses, until finally he hears footsteps, and then a sharp rap on his door.

“Yo, Katsudon,” a voice says, and he looks up.

“Good morning, Yuri.”

Yuri looks half-asleep, which Yuuri can sympathize with. He slouches in the doorframe, hands jammed into his pockets, and impatiently huffs at a lock of hair falling across his eyes. It’s getting long enough that he’ll be able to put it in a ponytail, soon.

For now, Yuuri frowns at him, then reaches into the drawer on his right hand side and pulls out a box of colorful cat hairclips. “Did you forget to put your hair back this morning? Here, use these.”

“What the fuck,” Yuri says, staring at the box incredulously. “Do you just keep those around? I’m not putting—”

“Yuri, your hair has to be out of your face before you go in the lab,” Yuuri warns. “It’s a _safety_ hazard. And don’t be so grumpy! I made you coffee.”

Yuri gives him a long, slow look. “Okay,” he finally says, taking the mug that Yuuri points at. “Fine. You’re ridiculous, Katsudon. What the hell happened to you, by the way? You look like you haven’t slept in a month. Like. Seriously. Do you need to go home?”

“I’m fine, Yuri,” Yuuri sighs, rubbing his temples. Are _all_ of his students going to comment on his stayed-up-way-too-late-and-cried-all-night looks? “I’m trying out a new fashion trend. It’s influenced by the sleep habits of the students in my lab.”

Yuri barks out a laugh. “Wow, fuck you. Anyway, sorry I’m running late,” and he sighs, scrubbing at his eyes with one hand. “Grandpa slept in so I had to make breakfast and… ugh. My point is, you’re not doing anything tonight, right? You don’t have a social life, you never do anything—”

“I _do too_ have a social life! I go out with Chris sometimes—”

“—and Grandpa wants you to come over for dinner.”

Yuuri blinks. Nikolai Plisetsky wants him to come over for dinner? Well… he _wasn’t_ planning to do anything else tonight, but it’s sort of short notice. “Um. Okay? Why, is something the matter?”

Yuri shrugs and gulps down a large swig of coffee. “I dunno. He just said to tell you to come over after we leave lab, and you can stay for dinner. Guess he wants to talk to you about something. He didn’t tell me any particular reason.”

“Maybe he just wants to know how your research is going, from the source,” Yuuri muses, quirking an eyebrow at his student, who huffs at him and rolls his eyes. “Alright, that sounds fine! Please tell him I’ll be there, and give him my thanks, too.”

“Sure, will do.” Yuri gives him a halfhearted scowl. “And my project is going _fine,_ so you don’t need to be an _ass_ about it, Katsudon.”

Yuuri has the sudden overwhelming urge to get up, round his desk, and ruffle Yuri’s hair. He doesn’t, because he likes having both his hands, but he does hop up with energy he doesn’t feel, take the hairclips, and go over.

“I know, I know. You’re doing great. Now hold still, let me put these in—”

“Hey, hey, I can do my own damn hair, stop it!”

“Well, _clearly_ not, or else you’d have put it up before getting here.”

“Fuck off, Katsudon!”

It’s a losing battle for Yuri, and when Yuuri finally pronounces him fit to enter the lab, he sports several colored clips in his pale hair. It’s less than ten seconds before Mila lets out a shriek of pure glee from her bench, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity, Yuuri finds himself laughing.

* * *

Yuuri takes the train home with Yuri, though he insists on making a stop at home to feed the dogs before going out for the evening. They whine when he has to leave again, but Yuri pets them when he thinks Yuuri’s not looking, which makes him smile. But returning home reminds him that he spent most of last night sitting on that couch waiting for Viktor Nikiforov, and whatever peace of mind he gained while at the lab drains away.

The train ride is uneventful; they don’t talk too much, since Yuuri is too busy fretting and Yuri is staring out the window as the city rolls by, pensive. The sun is setting as they finally reach their stop, and the sky is painted in vivid violet and indigo with streaks of fiery-bright cyan. It reminds Yuuri of the color of the hottest stars, like they used to read about in their astronomy texts at the Academy.

He only took one Astronomy class, of course; nobody sees the real sky anymore, so it’s not very practical. Only the engineers who work for the Aetherium need to worry about what’s beyond the dome.

Yuuri is starting to wonder about it again, himself. He hasn’t seen the true sky since…

No, that day doesn’t bear thinking about, not now. Not when he’s already got enough on his plate.

He follows Yuri down the street from the train station, considering the darkening sky, and tries to quell his jittery nerves as they turn a corner and keep walking. Yuri gives him a look.

“What’s your deal?” he asks, after a few more moments of silence. “You look like you’re half ghost. My grandpa’s not _that_ scary, Katsudon.”

“I’m not worried about your grandfather,” Yuuri answers bleakly. “Something else.”

“Then what,” Yuri huffs. “Is it your job shit? You can just tell them no if you’re that freaked out about it.”

“It’s related to that, but not exactly.” Yuuri tucks his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “I’d rather not discuss it right now.”

Yuri gives him another suspicious look, but drops it at least for the moment, which Yuuri is grateful for. They walk in silence for a few seconds, and then Yuri starts to talk about his cat, and by the time they arrive at the Plisetsky household, Yuuri is a little less on edge. Just a little, but he’s grateful for it nonetheless.

“Okay, so, like, Grandpa wanted to talk to you,” Yuri reminds him as he scans his hand by the door. “And I don’t know what about, but he said it was urgent. So like… be ready for that, I guess.”

“Thanks,” Yuuri mutters, butterflies starting to flutter in his stomach again. Did he do something wrong? Did he upset Yuri and anger Nikolai?

When they step inside, however, Nikolai calls cheerily from the kitchen, “Yura, Yuuri, welcome, welcome! Dinner will be ready soon, soon! Yurochka, be a dear and set the table after you wash your hands, please.”

“I literally _just_ got home,” Yuri complains, but he sets his bag down in the hallway and trudges into the kitchen. Yuuri toes out of his shoes and follows, wringing his hands.

The kitchen smells heavenly, when he enters, with a big pot of something bubbling on the stove and something else in the oven. “Oh, wow, Mr. Nikolai, this all smells so good,” he says, fervently hoping that his anxiety calms down enough that he can actually eat without nausea. It’d be rude to come over for dinner and then not eat, right? “Is there anything I can do to help…?”

“Please, Yuuri, I have told you to call me Kolya, yes?” Nikolai gives him a kindly look, almost paternal, as he stirs the pot. “And, actually, yes, if you could… I still need a little time to finish dinner, and in the meantime, there’s someone who wants to talk to you.”

Anxiety spikes. “Ah—someone?”

“I thought _you_ wanted to talk to him,” Yuri interjects, ducking back into the room to fill up three glasses of water. “Who else is over?”

“We have a secret guest, Yura,” Nikolai says, and oh, god, _that_ doesn’t help anything. “Don’t go around telling anyone, okay?”

Yuri frowns. “Okay, now that’s just _weird…_ but okay? Who is it?”

“He wants to talk to Yuuri as soon as possible,” Nikolai says, adding a dash of something to the pot, “so Yura, please show him the door to the basement—that’s where our guest is, right now—and come back and help me.”

“Uh, okay,” Yuri says, clearly bewildered and suspicious. “This way, Katsudon.”

Yuuri follows him out of the kitchen. “You don’t know any of what’s going on?”

“No.” Yuri squints up at him as he leads the way to a door under the stairs. “Do you?”

Yuuri looks at the knob for a long, long moment, and takes a deep breath. “No.”

He opens the door, confused, and quietly descends into the basement. He trusts the Plisetsky family, of course, but everything happening recently has left him stressed and wary, and part of him frets: what if this is a trap? What if they’re with the Aetherium, and waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs is a set of armed guards coming to take him away and have him quietly disposed of? What if—

“Yuuri?”

Yuuri gasps sharply, one hand flying up to cover his mouth in shock.

There, sitting on a beaten-up old couch next to a tiny bed, looking back at him with a [myriad](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ql8K3KJyWgY) of undiscernable emotions flickering in his eyes, is the last person Yuuri expected to see here: Viktor Nikiforov.

“V-Viktor,” he manages, heart thundering in his throat. “You’re. Um. You’re here.”

“Yuuri,” Viktor repeats, more slowly, and something in just—in just the way he says Yuuri’s name, tender and gentle and ten thousand times more intimate than any one word should be capable of, makes Yuuri shiver. Viktor stands, too, crosses the room to him, and takes his hands, and Yuuri hesitates, looking up at him and trying not to hyperventilate.

“I—you’re—I don’t—”

“Hey,” Viktor murmurs, stroking his thumbs over Yuuri’s knuckles, and, and oh, that’s… that’s sweet of him, and it’s grounding, and, oh. “You’re trembling. Breathe with me, okay?”

Oh, god, how he _wants_ to. There’s some part of him that wants to collapse and sink into Viktor’s arms, to chase the fleeting moment of security he felt when they last saw each other and Viktor hugged him so desperately. Maybe if he melts against him and shudders out the breaths clawing their way up his throat, this will all fix itself. Maybe he’ll finally understand.

But there’s a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, growing heavier by the second, because—because Viktor is so familiar with him, and with how to soothe him, and how to make him feel safe, and it’s becoming clearer and clearer that they weren’t just colleagues. They must have been friends. Close friends, even.

“Yuuri,” Viktor murmurs, squeezing his hands. “What’s wrong? I’m here. It’ll be okay. I’m glad you came. I’m sorry I didn’t come to you; I’m certain you’re being watched, and I couldn’t put you in danger. But I’m here, okay? I’m here, and we’re going to figure this out—”

“No. No, Viktor—”

“Hey,” Viktor interrupts, touching his cheek. “What happened? Are you upset with me? I’m sorry I left you alone, Yuuri, I really am…”

“What? No, I’m—no, why would you think I’m upset with you? I’m, uh, I’m stressed and this is all a _lot_ and… I don’t know, but I’m not—no, I’m glad you’re here.” Yuuri shakes his head, bewildered. “I can’t do this alone.”

Viktor’s brow furrows. “Then why do you keep calling me ‘Viktor’?”

Viktor doesn’t know. Viktor doesn’t know that he’s been erased, and he’s holding Yuuri’s hands and trying to soothe him like nothing changed, and he doesn’t know but he _deserves_ to, so Yuuri gapes and flounders like a drowning man flailing for aid, and when none comes, he chokes on his own resolve and the truth comes spilling out.

“I—Viktor, I need—you need to know. I don’t remember you. At all.”

Viktor stiffens, and then his lips press together into a thin, firm line. “Is that some kind of joke? It’s not funny, Yuuri. I’m sorry I disappeared, but can we please be adults about this—”

“I’m not joking, Viktor,” Yuuri insists, shaking his head. “I mean it. I know I should know you, but the Aetherium did _something_ to me, and I don’t have any of those memories.”

Viktor reels back as if struck.

His face goes pale, his eyes wide, and shock morphs into slow, dawning horror, and as Yuuri watches in anguish, his composure cracks, splinters, and shatters. “Yuuri?” he whispers. “You’re not—no, please, god, that’s not true, that _can’t_ be true! Yuuri, _please,_ it’s me, it’s—it’s your Vitya! Don’t you remember me? Anything?”

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri pleads. “I don’t know why. I know—I know I _should_ know you, but I don’t, and I think, I think it has something to do with when you discovered—when you discovered, you know, the… the whole thing? I… god, I don’t even know when that _was._ How long—how long did they have you?”

Viktor slowly sinks down to his knees, hands covering his mouth. His eyes are glassy and wide with shock, and Yuuri nearly bursts into tears knowing that this news must be devastating, but he doesn’t know _why._ Who was he to Viktor? He has no idea.

“Yuuri,” Viktor whispers, gentle and intimate again, the picture of a broken man. He hunches in on himself, and the tears spill over despite his attempts to hold them back. The sob that wrenches itself from his chest rends at Yuuri’s heart. “Oh, god, Yuuri…”

Tears prickle at Yuuri’s eyes, too; he doesn’t know what, exactly, was between them—he doesn’t know what Viktor is grieving—but it’s grief, clear as day, and knowing that he was the bearer of this news, the one who caused this grief… it hurts. Viktor was his friend, and now he doesn’t remember him, and god, Yuuri doesn’t know what he would do if he escaped the Aetherium only to have, say, Chris, maybe, tell him, _I don’t know you.anymore._

No, he does know. He would break.

Maybe this is all a horrible, cruel game. Maybe the Aetherium let Viktor live just to break his spirit so that he’d have nowhere to turn but them—and suddenly, the question of _why_ they kept Viktor alive answers itself:

They wanted him for their own. They wanted to _recruit_ him, the way they want to recruit Yuuri. If Viktor coauthored the paper that shot Yuuri to enough fame to attract the Aetherium’s attention, of course they’d want to recruit him, and—he balls his hands into fists, suddenly helplessly furious—they did whatever they did to Yuuri, and anyone else who might have known him, in order to make sure he wouldn’t have a choice.

“I’m so sorry,” Yuuri breathes, sinking to his knees, and then he tentatively wraps his arms around Viktor’s shoulders and pulls him close. Viktor lets out a piteous whimper and _clings_ to him, clamping his arms tight about his waist as if now he’s the drowning man, and Yuuri is the spar of wood keeping him afloat. “Oh, Viktor, I’m so sorry. I wish I could remember.”

“Call me Vitya,” Viktor rasps, shuddering against his chest. Yuuri could weep himself—his mind might not remember, but some half-forgotten echo in his body, muscle memory, if nothing else, whispers that holding Viktor tight like this feels right, feels soothing, feels _familiar_. It’s disconcerting, holding someone he registers as a stranger and yet feeling like he’s at home. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t question Viktor’s request. “Call me Vitya. Please.”

“Vitya.” Yuuri hugs him tighter, holding him on the stony basement floor, and rubs big, soothing circles into his back. “I’m sorry, Vitya. I’m so, so sorry…”

“Oh, Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuri. It’s—it’s not your fault,” Viktor manages, but he collapses in on himself, crying so hard Yuuri worries that he might not be able to breathe, and clutches at him as if he’d die if he let go.

It must be around an hour that they stay like that, curled up on the stone floor together. Viktor’s tears eventually slow and dry for the moment, and Yuuri finds himself awkwardly, tentatively petting his hair, resting his chin atop his head, and holding him tighter. Viktor is a good man, and what the Aetherium did to him is inconceivable and horrifying, and if… if he can, Yuuri wants to help him.

“Vitya,” he finally says, giving him a gentle squeeze. “Do you… god, I don’t even know where to start, sorry—do you want to, um… talk about… us? Or… do you want dinner? I’m sure dinner is ready by now! I—oh, shit, I don’t mean that like, you need to stop crying now, take your time, this is a mess, I just meant—if you want—”

Viktor chuckles and wipes at his eyes, his voice watery. “Memories altered or not, some things never change, do they?”

Yuuri flushes. “If you mean, uh, I’m very bad at putting words into sentences that make sense, yes.”

Pain flashes through Viktor’s eyes for just a moment before he shakes his head and hides it behind a sorrowful smile. “Something like that.”

Silence falls for a few seconds. Yuuri hesitates, biting his lip; he has so many questions, but he doesn’t even know where to start. Viktor is the one person he can trust, he knows that much, but that’s… just about _all_ he knows. What are they supposed to do from here? It’s so overwhelming. What can the two of them do against the might of the entire Aetherium?

“I don’t know what we’re going to do,” Viktor finally whispers, laying his head into the crook of Yuuri’s shoulder. “I don’t… I… I need to ask you something, Yuuri.”

Yuuri swallows hard. “Go ahead.”

Viktor takes a shaky breath. “Are you happy?”

“What?”

Is he _happy?_ With his stupid lonely life not doing anything and always too-conscious of every step he ever takes? With his constant fear now, that the Aetherium will find him and torment him and kill him for his—for knowing what he knows? How the hell could he be _happy_ with that?

“I said,” Viktor repeats, and his voice is ragged again, as if he’s trying his hardest not to break down again, “are you _happy.”_

“I—what kind of question is that,” Yuuri flounders. “Knowing that this entire place is built on—knowing how ruthless they are and that they’re lying to everyone, and—no! No, I’m scared out of my mind and I don’t know what to do, either, and I’m not happy!”

Viktor breathes in, and out. Slow, like he’s trying to steady himself. “I meant… were you happy, then. Before you… before I came into the picture.”

Oh.

Suddenly he realizes what Viktor is asking, _truly_ asking, and it utterly terrifies him.

“Vitya, _no,_ ” he gasps, clutching at him desperately. “Don’t you dare turn yourself in, don’t you _dare_ leave me alone—no, no, no, I wasn’t happy then either, and maybe it’s because you weren’t there, I don’t know, but _no,_ I don’t want to just—just go _back_ to that! I can’t, I can’t, not now, so you have to stay with me. Please. You have to, I _can’t_ do this alone!”

Viktor’s hand curls into a fist, clutching at his shirt, keeping him close. His voice is barely even a whisper. “Yuuri…”

“Please,” Yuuri repeats, closing his eyes. “I need you.”

Viktor sits up at that, pulling away and wrapping his arms around himself. “You don’t even _know_ me,” he  retorts, but he doesn’t sound bitter. He sounds exhausted and so, so sad, and Yuuri’s heart breaks for him, even though he technically doesn’t know him.

(Maybe his heart just knows it _should_ be breaking, so it is. An obedient piece of clockwork, doing as it should without question, regardless of the changes.)

“Why do you need me?”

“Because. You’re the… you’re the only other person who _knows_ about it. You’re… you’re the only person I can trust now.” Yuuri hesitates, trying to calm his sorrowful, racing heart. “You—everything has been leading me back to you. What would I do without you?”

“They wouldn’t hunt you, if you turned me in,” Viktor answers, eyes closed. “They’d celebrate. They’d honor you, and you’d never have to worry about anything again, because they’d take care of everything for their hero, the one who saved them from the rebel trying to destroy Dawnsmere from within.”

Yuuri can picture it already—can see Sonya’s sickly-sweet smile and the headlines full of flowery lies, like roses in full bloom, covering up the ground so that nobody can see Viktor impaled on their thorns underneath.

It makes him nauseous.

“I—I could never, _ever_ do that,” he whispers, shaking. “I thought—I thought you _knew_ me. Was I someone you would really think so lowly of—do you really think I would turn you in when you’re the one who’s been punished so much already for discovering what _they_ did?! Do you think I would side with them just because it’s _easy?_ Maybe you didn’t know me, after all!”

Viktor flinches as if he’s been slapped, his eyes filling with tears again, and immediately Yuuri wants to kick himself. “I—that’s not what I meant, Yuuri,” Viktor tries, but his voice breaks horribly into another gasp and sob, and he’s dashing at his cheeks and god, Yuuri is an ass. “I meant—I just—it would be easier on you, if I left, if I turned myself in, b-because, you don’t—you don’t need me as p-part of your life anymore, and, and…”

“Vitya,” Yuuri murmurs, trying not to cry himself. He does a very bad job of it, tearing up and having to wipe at his eyes again, but he reaches over and pries one of Viktor’s hands away to hold it in both of his own. He felt safe, when Viktor held him. Perhaps he can offer that same feeling of safety to Viktor. Even if he’s an ass. And sucks at talking to him. And is also just kind of the worst, in general. “I’m sorry. Sorry. I shouldn’t have—I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean it. I don’t even know—were we… were we close? Good friends?”

Viktor lets out a bitter, watery laugh. “Oh, god. You were my best friend. The best friend I ever had, in my life. I met you on our first day at the Academy.”

Yuuri winces. They were friends for that long, and he just said that Viktor didn’t know him, of all things? Ugh. Stupid, stupid, stupid. “Oh. I… wow. I… we’ve been best friends for eight years?”

Viktor nods miserably. “I missed you so much while they had me. I thought… well, it doesn’t matter what I thought, now, I suppose.”

“Oh, Vitya.” Yuuri squeezes his hand, then lets go and pulls him into a hug. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could remember…”

Viktor clutches at him tightly. “Part of me can’t believe you’re trusting me this easily, if you don’t remember me.”

“I think,” Yuuri swallows hard, licks his lips, and fumbles for words, “that… whatever. Whatever it was, that they did? To, um. To take my memories? It… worked, but also I still have, um, like, subconscious instincts, or leftover emotional impressions, I guess, and those… that makes me feel like I can trust you.”

“Oh, god, Yuuri,” Viktor breathes, and Yuuri can feel him shudder from the effort to hold back more tears. “I—I can’t believe they did this to you. To—to everyone. I… I thought maybe Nikolai just didn’t remember me, though that seemed weird, and I… I didn’t know what to make of it, but I thought you… I never would have thought…”

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri whispers, again. They’ve been sitting on the floor for ages. His knees should be aching by now, but if they are, he can’t tell. He’s just sad and horrified and numb.

“I can’t believe they took us from you. From me. From both of us.” Viktor takes another deep, shaky breath. “Fuck. Oh, god. Oh, Yuuri.”

Yuuri doesn’t know what to say. What is there to say, in the face of this? He still can’t believe— _eight years_ of memories, taken from him? The Aetherium has the ability to do that? What other horrible secrets are they hiding under the lights and the glamour? They just—they took eight years of his life—not completely, but they took a huge chunk out of his mind and let him just carry on, without ever knowing something was missing.

Something else clicks into place.

“Did they take you a month ago?”

Viktor lifts his head, eyes widening. “Yes. I thought you said you didn’t know?”

“I… guessed,” Yuuri admits, biting his lip. “I’ve… had this feeling like something was… missing, I guess? And I don’t—I don’t _remember_ feeling it until about a month ago. That’s when I remember starting to feel weird about… everything. I was really disoriented, I think? I went… I went out clubbing, or something, I must have been really drunk because I don’t remember, and the morning after I remember I just woke up and felt _wrong,_ but I didn’t know why. And I thought it was a hangover, except it never went away.”

Viktor has gone very, very still against him.

“Yuuri,” he says, very softly. “It wasn’t a hangover. You weren’t clubbing.”

Yuuri stiffens. “Then…?”

“We—the night they came for me,” Viktor manages, “we were together. They said I was under arrest, and you tried to fight them, because you said I hadn’t done anything wrong, and they beat you—god, I don’t know if I’ve ever been so scared in my life—and then they separated us. I think… that was when they took your memories.”

Viktor shakes his head, again, squeezing his eyes shut as if it hurt to admit out loud that they took Yuuri’s memories. Yuuri stares at him, trying to fit it together—he understands all of this logically, but _emotionally,_ not so much; it all feels fake, like it’s not happening to him, not really. It’s almost like he’s reading a book about someone else. This isn’t him.

“Oh,” he finally says, because he doesn’t know what else there is to say. “Oh. Okay.”

Viktor sighs abruptly, pulling away, and then he stands and offers Yuuri a hand to get to his feet. Something settles in his eyes, heavy and resigned. “Okay. Moping around won’t help either of us. We… we should figure something out. I’m going to go wash my face, and I’ll be back.”

He goes to the tiny bathroom tucked in a corner of the basement, under the stairs, and as the water runs, Yuuri moves to the couch and sits, folding his hands in his lap and trying to breathe.

Eight years. Eight years of memories, altered and _stolen._ What happened during all that time? Is this why—is this why everything about his time at the Academy seems vague and nebulous? He always just assumed his memory was bad, but—but if someone integral to his time there was removed, then it would make sense that he can’t remember it properly!

How could the Aetherium just _take_ his memories?!

And not just his—Viktor said that Nikolai and Yura ought to have recognized him, too. Did they wipe _everyone’s_ memories of Viktor? That seems excessive, if it required taking Yuuri when they took Viktor, but then again, if they can alter memories, maybe they could have gotten away with stealthily kidnapping citizens in batches, with nobody ending up any the wiser.

It’s utterly horrifying.

For the first time in years, Yuuri almost wishes he wasn’t in Dawnsmere at all—that he could be back out in the wastelands, where everything is desolate and dry and where his family died, but at least where the danger is present and obvious. Guilt gnaws at his heart, threatening to tear it out of his chest, because his parents died to get him here—to a place they thought he would be safe, could get the surgery he needed to make his body produce testosterone so he could live in a body that feels right, so he could exist as _himself_ —and now, he wants to escape.

The water stops running, and Viktor emerges, his eyes still reddened but no longer filled with tears. Yuuri wants to go to him—there’s an ache in his chest, made of an amalgam of his own fear and dread and despair and sorrow, and he wants to be held by the only person he can possibly trust to understand it—but something keeps him frozen in place.

Viktor comes to sit next to him, quiet and contemplative. “Have you eaten yet?”

“No,” he admits. “I… I wasn’t really hungry when I got here.” Too nauseous from anxiety to keep anything down, he doesn’t add. If they were best friends for eight years, Viktor probably already knows. “You?”

“Not yet.” Viktor sighs. “I wanted to talk to you first.”

“Oh. Um. So… should we go eat?” Yuuri asks, biting his lip. “Are you—you’re living down here now? Are you okay? Do you need anything, or…?”

“Our—I’m certain your home is under constant surveillance,” Viktor says, looking away and pressing his lips into a firm, thin line. “So I can’t go anywhere near you without risking your safety. I’m lucky that Nikolai let me in even without remembering me, but I just hope I haven’t led danger here. I… don’t know where else to go, yet, but I doubt I can stay here too long.”

“This isn’t sustainable,” Yuuri mutters, staring down into his lap. His brain isn’t working, too shocked and overwhelmed by _eight years gone eight years gone eight years gone,_ and no matter how he looks at this, he can’t think of a solution. “We have to figure out something that’s safe for all of us.”

“We need to get rid of the Aetherium,” Viktor mutters. “Those bastards killed so many people. They took _everything_ from me—” and he breaks off abruptly, breathing hard, before he shakes his head and bows his head, looking at his hands. Yuuri follows his gaze and notices, for the first time, the gold band around his ring finger.

His heart stops.

“Vitya,” he whispers, horrified, as another piece of the puzzle comes into view, clicks into place. “You’re married?”

Viktor freezes, then gives him a funny little smile—the saddest smile Yuuri has ever seen. “Yes. But when they took me, they did something to my husband.”

“Oh, god,” Yuuri breathes, hands rising to cover his mouth. “Is he…”

“I don’t know _what_ they did to him,” Viktor says, very softly running his thumb over the ring. “But I think… I’m pretty sure he’s… he’s gone.”

Yuuri’s stomach fills with dread and sorrow all over again as Viktor lifts his hand to his mouth and kisses the ring, tender and loving, and then wipes at his eyes, clearly trying not to cry again. “I’m—I’m so sorry, oh my god,” he finally says, placing his hand on Viktor’s shoulder. “That’s horrible—oh, Vitya, I’m so sorry.”

“I’ll be alright,” Viktor whispers, tipping his head back as a tear slides down his cheek, ignored. “I just miss him a lot.”

“I—I don’t remember him, either,” Yuuri says, very quietly. “Did I know him? He’s disappeared, too?”

Viktor doesn’t answer. After a moment, he lets out a breath and pulls away, pushes himself to his feet, and offers a falsely bright smile. “It’s alright. It’s alright! What’s important now is that we figure out what to do from here. Why don’t we go talk to Nikolai and fill him in?”

“You think we should?” Yuuri asks, dubious. If he doesn’t want to talk about his husband anymore, that’s fine; it can’t be an easy topic, but telling Nikolai…? “It’s dangerous…”

There’s resolute steel in Viktor’s sad blue eyes. “If he’s going to have me here, he deserves to know everything.”

“I guess so,” Yuuri agrees, very quietly, getting to his feet, too. “Let’s go get dinner. And after we eat we can explain.”

“Sounds good,” Viktor says. “Let’s go, Yuuri.”

Yuuri squares his shoulders and nods. They make their way up the stairs, and for the first time, Yuuri realizes he’s not doing this alone, anymore.

Now, they’re together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEWWOOOOO it's only been... 5000 years since the last chapter...... deeply and from the bottom of my heart: _my bad_.
> 
> 1\. afotw yuuri is one (1) whole good trans boy and i would kill for him. so would viktor. it is known
> 
> 2\. you probably don't trust me anymore which is fair, but I SWEAR i'm going to try and update every other week from now on asdgjkd
> 
> 3\. PLS APPRECIATE THE [RIKI ART](https://rikichie.tumblr.com/post/178320689092/chapter-4-of-a-fly-on-the-wall-by) IT IS SO GOOD AND EMOTIONAL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> next time: whispers, like wildfires, must be kept contained, or else they might consume you.


	5. whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Truths half-hidden finally come to light.
> 
> Perhaps it might have been better if they didn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for mentions of minor character deaths and more anxiety!

“It’s a lot,” Yuuri murmurs, staring down into the steaming green tea in his hands. “I’m sorry to have dragged you into all this, Kolya.”

Next to him, Viktor shifts and clears his throat. “If anyone should be apologizing, it’s me. You got dragged into this, too, Yuuri. I’m sorry. To both of you. And, again—if you think it would be best if you turn me in and go back to living life normally, I understand.”

Yuuri gives him a sharp, quelling look. “I already told you, we’re not doing that.”

“Absolutely not,” Nikolai Plisetsky agrees, shaking his head slowly. “This is a lot to take in, but I would much rather know than not. So, thank you for telling me.”

“You agreed to take me in,” Viktor says, eyes downcast and voice soft. Some part of Yuuri aches to reach over and take his hand, to comfort him, to reassure him, but he balks. Why does it seem like his heart remembers, even if his brain forgot? It’s almost frightening. “You deserve to know everything that that entails. And what that entails is extremely high treason. I… don’t know what they’d do to you if they found out.”

“Something similar to what they did to my daughter, I figure,” Nikolai says bitterly. “But then you already know about that, don’t you? It’s why you came to me?”

“It is.” Viktor nods. He’s gripping his own mug so tight that his knuckles are white. Yuuri gives in to the urge in his chest and quietly reaches over and pries one of his hands from it, holding it tight, and Viktor turns to him, eyes wide.

Yuuri swallows hard. Holding Viktor’s hand is comforting to him, too, because he’s a sad and pathetic touch-starved man who only really holds other people at his dance classes, and Viktor makes him feel safe. Safety is a feeling he utterly craves these days.

He glances back at Nikolai. “I… I don’t know what they did to your daughter,” he admits very quietly, looking to Viktor again. Anxiety roils in his stomach, a clenched knot of bubbling fear. “Am I supposed to know that? Did they take that from me too? What if they know about it and—”

“Shh, Yuuri, hush, it’s okay,” Viktor murmurs, rubbing his thumb over the base of Yuuri’s. “You don’t know because Kolya never told you himself. He told me, and gave me permission to tell you. When they erased your memories of me, that must have gone with it. That’s all.”

“Oh,” Yuuri breathes, sitting back and feeling a little stupid for panicking over nothing. The only memories missing are the ones of Viktor. The only memories missing are the ones of Viktor, and that’ll be okay, because Viktor can tell him everything he needs to know. The only memories missing are the ones of Viktor…

…As far as they know.

He tries not to shudder. The idea of someone impersonally probing around in his mind, rifling through his most private thoughts and moments, and selecting a vast swath to just—to just _erase_ is horrifying, and if he dwells on it, he’s certain he’s going to break down and cry from how icky and violated it makes him feel.

“I can tell you what happened,” Nikolai says, looking away for a moment. “Now that you’ve told me what you’ve told me, I can tell you what happened with even more certainty.”

“If… if you’re okay to talk about it,” Yuuri stammers out. Viktor squeezes his hand. “If you don’t want to, or if you don’t want me to know, that’s totally fine and I understand and respect that and—”

“Yuuri,” Nikolai cuts in, meeting his eyes. Yuri gets his piercing stare from his grandfather, but it’s even more potent coming from him; Yuuri has to consciously try not to squirm and look away. “I have told you before, you are basically family in this house. I am endlessly grateful to you for taking Yurochka in and guiding him as you have. I trust you, understand? And I want to tell you this.”

“Oh,” Yuuri squeaks. “Y-yes. Okay. Thank you.”

The shadow of a smile flickers across Viktor’s face. “Let people appreciate having you in their lives, Yuuri.”

Yuuri doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just opts to sip his tea in silence.

“I came to Dawnsmere for Yura,” Nikolai says, settling back in his chair. “We used to live on the outside, in a small town with friendly people. It wasn’t anything glamorous, but it was real and the air was always fresh. We lived at the foot of the mountains. My daughter and her husband taught dance classes, and I lived near them, helping watch Yura when they were busy. But then a second strain of the silver plague came through, and… my daughter and her husband fell ill.”

Yuuri has to put the mug down, holding it between his knees, as his hand leaps to cover his mouth. Life in a small town outside Dawnsmere, with a happy family and clear skies—this hits far too close to home, far too close to the walls he’s spent years putting up—and he can’t, he can’t, he can’t. He _can’t_ think about that now, or else—

Viktor lets go of his hand and wraps his arm around his shoulders. Yuuri starts in surprise before he realizes: if they were best friends for eight years, then at some point he must have told Viktor about the memories he refuses to think about. Viktor _knows._

He’ll have to talk to him about that, and soon, but for now, he sinks into the offered comfort with relief, trying to keep himself from shaking. He was expecting something upsetting, but he wasn’t expecting _this._

“We wrote to Dawnsmere,” Nikolai continues, staring into space, deep in thought. He doesn’t seem to have noticed Yuuri’s horror, and for that Yuuri is grateful. “We begged for medicine, for aid, for help of any sort.”

He sighs deeply, steel in his eyes when he looks back to the two of them.

“We were denied.”

“Oh god,” Yuuri whispers. It’s not the exact same, but it’s close enough that his hands are shaking. Viktor holds him tighter, rubbing his shoulder. “Oh, my god.”

“So, at the wish of his dying mother, I took Yura and fled,” Nikolai says. “We came to Dawnsmere. They agreed to let us in, only after extensive screening to make sure we carried no plague. It was the only place we could think of to keep him safe, to let him have a fighting chance—he was so small, then, you know, and catching it would have killed him—but I’ve never once forgiven them for refusing to share their miraculous cure. Through deliberate inaction they killed my daughter and my son-in-law.” He shakes his head. “I’ve lived here almost twenty years and not a day goes by that I don’t curse that this city is run by murderers.”

“Yes,” Yuuri whispers, raising his mug to his lips so that he doesn’t have to make eye contact. It’s harder than it should be; his hands keep shaking. Viktor’s fingers start to rub soothing circles into his upper arm, slow and steady, and that helps him ground himself—he can’t stop thinking about the looks on his parents faces when they agreed to let him go, about their final, helpless stares as he was pulled from their arms, about how they wept. That was the last he ever saw of them. He has no hope that they survived the bleak winter outside, after that. “Yes, it is.”

“You think they would kill you if they found out you were helping me?” Viktor asks quietly. Yuuri gives in to his need to seek comfort and lays his cheek against his shoulder, pressing close against his side, and Viktor glances down to him with a tender smile for the briefest hint of a second. He looks troubled, though, troubled and pensive, as he considers Nikolai.

Nikolai shrugs. “I wouldn’t be surprised. I imagine if you weren’t such a potentially useful tool for them, they would have killed you, too. They still might, now that you’ve made it clear what you’re willing to risk by opposing them. And I’m just an old man who likes to cook. They have no use for me, and I have no delusions of thinking they have enough heart to spare a life they don’t need to spare.”

Yuuri sucks in a breath and lets it out slowly. He’s terrified, he realizes almost distantly, as if he’s feeling the horrific fear of someone else, not himself. That’s probably a sign he’s well and truly panicking, isn’t it? It is. Oh well, so long as he’s breathing okay, dealing with these memories floating through his mind again can be a problem for future Yuuri. “I don’t know what we should do now.”

Viktor sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. His hair falls forward over his face, casting a shadow in the low lamplight, and Yuuri stares for a long moment at the curve of his jaw, wondering. They don’t know each other, but they _do,_ and it’s strange and confusing but it’s the one part of this whole thing that’s not entirely bad, and it’s what he wishes he could focus on more. He wants to know Viktor again. He wants his memories back.

“It’s messy,” Viktor murmurs, raking his hand through his hair. “I don’t entirely know either. If we just keep it to ourselves, they’ll catch us one day. I don’t think we can trust in maintaining this status quo forever.”

“Whatever we do,” Nikolai says, “my utmost goal is to keep Yura safe. He’s barely more than a child and as much as I hate the Aetherium, I can’t do anything to put him in danger.”

“You already have,” Viktor mutters. “He’s in danger by virtue of me being here, even if he doesn’t know anything. Though—”

“He’s a very good student,” Yuuri says bleakly. “He’s been training under me for years. If they really want to recruit workers and Vitya and I are both out of the picture for being too difficult, he and Mila and Kenjirou are probably next on their list. I doubt they’d try to kill him.”

“They might kidnap him and try to indoctrinate him like they did me,” Viktor says darkly, and Yuuri places a hand on his knee, trying to be soothing to Viktor in the same way Viktor has been soothing to him. Viktor doesn’t acknowledge him, however, instead pasting on a thin smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t know what to tell you, Kolya. If you plan to bend over backwards to keep Yuri safe, you should have turned me away. Unless you mean to turn me in after all?”

“For the last time, _stop_ suggesting that,” Yuuri hisses. “I told you, I need you, and I _can’t_ just let them kill you. Kolya didn’t say he wants to ‘bend over backwards’! He just wants to be discreet so we can keep Yura as safe as we can! Don’t be so bitter!”

Viktor stiffens slightly, then blows out a sigh and slumps back against the cushions, leaning his cheek against Yuuri’s hair. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m just… I’m scared and frustrated. That doesn’t excuse me lashing out at you.”

“It’s alright.” Nikolai sips his tea. “This is a tense situation. I understand.”

“Thank you.” Viktor’s voice is quiet; Yuuri squeezes his knee, not knowing what else to do or say.

Silence falls, punctuated only by the slow sipping of their tea. Yuuri shifts, wanting to look up at Viktor again, wanting to study him until whatever locked, stolen memories are missing somehow magically rush back into his mind, but he doesn’t. Something about the way they’re sitting, quietly leaning into each other, feels fragile, and he doesn’t dare disturb it.

“I still don’t know what we should do,” he finally confesses, instead, looking down into his tea. “I’m—I’m scared, too. I don’t think… I don’t think we can just hide. I’m _sure_ the Aetherium caught on camera that I lied to Sonya to help you get away, Vitya—I don’t know _why_ they haven’t already arrested me for it, what could they _possibly_ gain by letting me go free—”

He and Viktor come to the same conclusion suddenly, both of them sitting up and stiffening so fast that they nearly smash their heads into each other.

“Check outside,” Viktor whispers to Nikolai, white as a sheet. “Please.”

Nikolai puts down his tea and stands, and Viktor drops to the floor, putting the coffee table between himself and the windows. Yuuri waits with bated breath, trying his hardest to look natural, in case there _is_ a creeping eye watching from the street, and doesn’t exhale until Nikolai drops the curtains back into place and shakes his head.

“There’s no arrest squad,” he says, settling back into his chair. “At least for now, we are safe.”

Viktor lets out a shuddering sigh of relief, head thumping to the rug for a second, and clambers back onto the couch. Yuuri, without thinking, scoots back into his side, still craving comfort, still wanting safety from all this fear, and Viktor gives him a wan smile and takes his hand again.

“Still…” Yuuri glances between him and Nikolai. “That’s probably the only reason they haven’t taken me into custody yet, isn’t it?”

“Probably.” Viktor looks glum, eyes dull and mouth tugging down at the corners. “They must be watching you. You have to make sure you keep your behavior as normal as possible. How often do you visit here these days?”

“Not as often as I’d like,” Nikolai says, giving Yuuri a kindly smile that brightens his craggy face. “If you assign Yura a new project, you could come over more often in the interest of working with him after hours on it. If you’d like, of course.”

“I…” Yuuri hesitates. “Maybe. I mean—to answer your question, Vitya, I’m here maybe once a week? Less?”

“Hm.” Viktor’s frown deepens, lines of weariness tugging at his brow. “So you can only come over around once a week, now. Okay. That’s fine, it’s fine; we just need to come up with some sort of plan for what to do for the coming week.”

“I can forget my scarf here today,” Yuuri suggests. “We can say I forgot it somewhere that it sat unnoticed and Yura couldn’t bring it to me at the lab because he didn’t realize I left it here, and so I can just swing by again to get it, and then I end up staying later again… and…”

“That’s a good cover story, but a cover story only works if someone hears it as a cover,” Nikolai advises. “Perhaps you could mention forgetting the scarf to Yura and ask him if you can come home with him, tomorrow. In the hallway, or somewhere where you may be overheard.”

“Right.” Yuuri bows his head. Is his entire life going to be like this now? Furtively planned out down to the conversation, stealing time with someone he used to know, hiding in the shadows of a city of murderers? “God… this is so much.”

Viktor squeezes his hand helplessly. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Yuuri mumbles, very tentatively laying his head on Viktor’s shoulder again. He’s wearing a slightly rough, knit sweater, and he’s kind of bony. Still, the contact is nice. “I’d much rather you… I’d much rather know, than. Than keep living on top of all. You know. On this.”

“As would I.” Nikolai shakes his head, staring down into his now-empty mug. “Nearly twenty years later and I find out… all along, I was more right than I knew. They really did kill Masha.”

_Not only Masha. They also killed—_

Yuuri almost flinches.

“Breathe,” Viktor murmurs, and Yuuri’s about to look up at him and ask what they should _do_ when there’s a loud _thump_ just outside the living room door.

All three of them freeze.

“Get down,” Nikolai hisses to Viktor, rising to his feet, and Yuuri’s heart rises into his throat and threatens to spill out in fear and take his dinner with it. Viktor, pale as a ghost, drops to the floor again, hiding behind the coffee table—not that it’ll do them any good if there’s already a spy in the house—and Yuuri frantically casts about for anything that could be used as a weapon, finally grabbing a heavy, decorative bowl from the table.

Nikolai inches toward the door and Yuuri follows him, heart clamoring the drums of despair and screaming at him to escape in his chest. He raises the bowl, ready to smash it over the intruder’s head, and Nikolai yanks open the door, and—

“ _Mmreow!”_ Potya screeches, her back arching up in fright at the sudden movement.

“Whoa what the _fuck!”_ Yuri yelps and jumps back, eyeing Yuuri with the bowl suspiciously. “Grandpa—Katsudon, put that down, what the hell are you _doing—_ ”

“Yuri Plisetsky!” Nikolai draws himself up to his full height. Potya scampers away from Yuri to hide behind Yuuri’s legs as he lowers the bowl, pressing herself against the backs of his calves and mewing. “How long have you been standing here?”

Yuri, instead of sheepishly backing down like he usually does when admonished by his grandfather, lifts his chin defiantly. “Long enough! You’re all talking about some serious shit and you expect me to just sit in my fucking room and play with Potya like I’m _twelve?”_

“Oh no…” Yuuri groans as realization washes over him, stumbling back and nearly tripping over Potya. He puts the bowl back on the coffee table and sinks to the couch, yanking off his glasses, and buries his face in his hands; horror climbs over him swiftly, a tsunami of dread sweeping him far out to sea. “Ohhh no, no no no no… Oh no, oh no, oh no…”

Yuri knows.

Yuri knows Yuri knows Yuri knows.

Now he’s in danger, too.

“Foolish boy!” Nikolai hisses. He points at the armchair and glares. “Go. Sit. If you’re going to eavesdrop, you might as well hear the rest. You’re in trouble already, might as well get in deeper, right?”

“Mrow,” Potya interrupts, jumping into Yuuri’s lap and digging her claws into his thigh to stabilize herself. He catches his breath and winces, gently picks up her paws, and presses her back until she flops down and curls up, nuzzling her head into his hand. This is happening. This is happening, huh? Okay. Sure! Sure. This is fine. Now Yuri is probably just going to get blackmailed, kidnapped, and/or murdered just like the rest of them. Great! It’s fine. Nothing is wrong here.

Viktor sits up, face drawn and tight, and settles back onto the couch next to Yuuri. This time, he doesn’t draw him in closer, and Yuuri feels the lack of his touch keenly.

“Don’t act like I’m in the wrong for wanting to know what the fuck is going on!” Yuri glares at all three of them. “You invite some random fucking stranger into our house and hole up in here for _hours_ talking to him and you don’t think I’m gonna be curious? Who the hell is he?”

Viktor hisses out a sigh, the last of the warmth draining out of his eyes into cool despair. He knew Yuri, too, Yuuri realizes—of course he did, if he knew Nikolai, but seeing him now, watching him paste on that fake smile from downstairs again, Yuuri almost could cry himself. It hurts, seeing Viktor hurt like this, even if he doesn’t really know Viktor.

“If you’ve been eavesdropping long enough, you would know that my name is Dr. Viktor K—Nikiforov.” Viktor eyes him, folds his arms across his chest. “And you would know that by all legal standards according to the Aetherium, I no longer exist. In fact, I never existed. Except that I do, and I’m here, and before they erased everyone’s memories of me, you and I were well-acquainted. Yuuri here and I were coworkers and close friends.”

How can he manage to say it so calmly now, when just two hours ago he was breaking down and sobbing on the basement floor because Yuuri doesn’t know him anymore?

Yuri glares. “I did hear that, actually. But I don’t know who you actually are. Sounds convenient that you know us but we don’t know you. Maybe the Aetherium just sent you to test everyone’s loyalties.”

“If they did, that would still be wrong and bad,” Yuuri says quietly, trying to keep things from getting even more tense as Viktor stiffens next to him. “Testing people’s loyalties by telling them they’ve had all their memories wiped…”

“You think the Aetherium would dare plant the note I left for Yuuri?” Viktor laughs, derisive and sharp and mocking and harsh, like moonlight glinting on broken glass. “You think the Aetherium wouldn’t have rather just erased all of it and been done, rather than going through something this convoluted just to test if you doubt them? Grow up, Yura. You’re not that important to them.”

Yuri bristles and opens his mouth, clearly about to rip into Viktor.

Before he can, Nikolai puts a hand on his shoulder in warning. “Let’s not fight among ourselves. We have enough problems as it is.”

“Well, if he’s telling the truth,” Yuri hisses, “that’s even worse! What the fuck! They kill people just so they can stay in power and they _made up_ the entire silver—”

“Yura,” Yuuri breaks in urgently, sending a cautious glance to the window and anxiously stroking Potya’s back. “Please keep your voice down.”

Yuri pipes down immediately, but after a moment’s hesitation he leans forward and insists, “We can’t just sit here and do _nothing!_ People have to know about it! That’s so fucked up! And they even still release it outside Dawnsmere and don’t give out the cure? How can we just let them _do_ that? We have to tell everyone!”

“No.”

Viktor presses his lips together firmly, shaking his head, and everyone turns to look at him.

“What do you mean, _no?”_ Yuri looks absolutely incredulous. “So you _are_ on their side—”

Viktor’s eyes flash, and his tight, thin smile drops. “Don’t,” he cuts in, his voice so light that it’s utterly incongruous with the sharp look on his face, “don’t _ever_ suggest that I would work for the Aetherium again. They took _everything_ from me. Don’t you _dare_ say that again.”

Yuuri hesitates, heart in his throat and wanting to cry from stress, and squeezes his eyes shut as he reaches for Viktor’s hand again. After a second of hesitation, Viktor intertwines their fingers like they were earlier, and Yuuri realizes he’s shaking. He squeezes his hand.

Yuri looks sullen and mulish, when Yuuri opens his eyes again, but he just crosses his arms and jerkily nods. “Then what the hell do you mean by _no_?”

“I mean,” Viktor says, as Yuuri strokes his thumb over his knuckles, “that we can’t afford to think with our hearts instead of our heads. _You_ can’t afford that, especially. Yuuri is on security cameras helping me escape. If he and I are both deemed too difficult to work with, their recruitment campaign turns to you. You, Mila, and Kenjirou.”

“And yet you didn’t want to tell me.” Yuri shifts his accusing glare to Yuuri for several moments.

“You’re safer the less you know,” Yuuri says desperately. “I don’t want this to get you killed, Yura, I just—I couldn’t—I can’t.”

“I’m nineteen,” Yuri frowns. “I know I’m young, but I _am_ an adult. You can’t make these choices for me just to protect me all the time. That’s not fair, Katsudon.”

“This is a matter of life and death!” Yuuri groans. Potya sticks her claws into his thigh again insistently, and he winces and obediently goes back to petting her. “Yura, I can’t in good conscience pull _anyone_ into this until we have a solid plan of what to do about it. Telling people is all well and good in theory, but there’s a lot of transition between ‘four idiots in a sitting room’ and ‘citywide movement to topple the Aetherium’. And at any point in that transition we could get caught. We have to be _careful._ ”

Yuri blows out a breath. “I guess,” he finally says, and it’s clear that he doesn’t want to hear it but he understands nonetheless. “So then if not that, what _are_ we supposed to do?”

Yuuri laughs humorlessly. “That’s the question of the hour, isn’t it?” He looks around, glancing at each of his companions, and then shrugs helplessly and drops his gaze to Potya’s fluffy paws, shaking his head. “I don’t know, Yura. I don’t know.” 

* * *

 

“Yo, Katsudon,” Yuri says, rapping smartly on Yuuri’s open office door. “I forgot to grab it this morning, but you left your scarf at my place last night.”

How is he so casual?! Is this not absolutely terrifying? If Yuuri didn’t know better, he’d think he _did_ just forget his scarf at the Plisetskys’ house! How is he acting so well?!

“Oh, drat.” Yuuri swallows. Does he sound too stiff? “I like that scarf. I was wondering where it went this morning… Do you mind if I swing by after lab again to pick it up?”

Yuri shrugs, indolent and casual, and rolls his eyes. “Sure, whatever, you can text Dedushka and let him know. He’ll probably want you to stay for dinner again though, fair warning.”

Yuuri laughs awkwardly and rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, of course. I’ll, uh… should I bring anything? I can bring something.”

With a snort, Yuri starts to turn away. “No need. Just come get your scarf. Potya slept on it, by the way. I hope you like cat hair.”

“I love cat hair,” Yuuri mutters weakly, staring dead-eyed at the article on his computer screen. It doesn’t look like it has actual words in it. Did he ever learn to read in the first place? Probably not. If he had, he wouldn’t be sitting here wondering how to turn squiggles into words.

At the end of the workday, Yuri and Yuuri repeat the same procedure from yesterday. They leave the lab together, stop by Yuuri’s apartment to feed the dogs, and once again take the train back to the Plisetskys’ place; today’s sky is crimson, dotted with fierce gold clouds, and as the sun sinks down, it darkens into a deep maroon. It reminds Yuuri of drying blood, and he turns away from the train window, suppressing a shudder.

The walk from the station to the house is uneventful and for the most part, silent; Yuri strikes up some small conversations here and there, mostly about the weather or the lab or nothing at all, but Yuuri is too tense to respond in kind, so they tend to fall flat and lapse back into silence. Still, they reach the house soon enough, and Yuri lets them both in.

“Welcome back,” Nikolai says, and to Yuuri’s surprise, he hugs him. “Yuuri. How are you doing?”

Yuuri laughs, humorless and drained, and rubs the back of his head as he pulls away. “I… oh, you know. I’ve been better. Kind of stressed.”

Nikolai nods. “Understandable.”

“Yeah, and you’ve been stiff as _fuck_ all day because of it,” Yuri grouses, kicking off his shoes and marching to the kitchen. “You gotta learn to be a better actor, Katsudon. Stop worrying about whether people will notice you’re acting. If you’re always worried, they will.”

Yuuri bites his lip hard, staring after him. Then he squares his shoulders and blows out a resolute breath. “Kolya? Is… Is Vitya downstairs?”

Nikolai’s hand settles on his shoulder. “Yes,” he says, low and intent. “He’s been waiting for you. Go to him, and then when you are done, we will all talk some more. Okay?”

“Okay.” Yuuri nods, breathes out again, and heads to the basement door. This time, he knows what to expect at the bottom; as he steps into view, Viktor looks up immediately from the book in his hands, closing it and standing in a fluid motion.

“Yuuri!”

“Hi,” Yuuri mumbles, coming forward. Viktor meets him halfway across the room, a soft, tentative smile on his face, and the sight of him is somehow soothing enough that Yuuri can’t help but slump forward to hug him. The longer he spends with him, the more convinced he gets that _something_ within him remembers; there’s no other reason that Viktor’s hugs could possibly feel as safe and comforting as they do. Some part of him must remember.

Maybe he can get those memories back.

“Hi, you,” Viktor says, resting his cheek against Yuuri’s hair. There’s a smile in his voice—but how does Yuuri know his voice well enough to know when he’s smiling? “I’m glad to see you. How was your day?”

“It was alright.” Yuuri finally withdraws, stepping away from his embrace, and looks up at him. “We just worked in the lab as normal. All three projects are going pretty well, but, uh… well. Actually. I wanted to talk to you about something? From yesterday?”

Viktor nods, unsurprised. “I figured you would.”

He steps back and gestures to the couch, settling himself into one corner of it and folding his legs under himself in a way that leaves Yuuri unsure of whether he’s impossibly elegant or just a pretzel. It’s a dilemma that can wait, though, so Yuuri shelves it and plops down next to him, fidgeting with the sleeves of his sweater. It’s the same red one he wore to the Aetherium, when Viktor first saw him again. Does Viktor remember that? Yuuri certainly does.

“It’s… about yesterday,” Yuuri finally manages, staring down into his lap. “When. When Kolya started talking about his daughter. And… and I freaked out, and—”

Viktor takes his hand, and Yuuri’s voice chokes itself off in his throat.

“I know,” Viktor says, very softly, tentative and gentle. “I know about it, Yuuri, solnyshko—you told me, years ago. You don’t have to say it now. I know. It’s okay.”

“You know,” Yuuri breathes, tears welling up in his eyes at the speed of light. He dashes them away furiously with his free hand, not wanting to cry so suddenly, but the relief at not having to re-explain everything after all is huge. It’s been weighing on him all day, and he’s been so scared, and… “S-so you don’t… so I don’t—I can just—you know all of it?”

“Can I hold you?” Viktor asks, very gentle. 

Yuuri needs no further prompting. He lets go of Viktor’s hand and scoots over, wraps his arms tentatively around his waist, lays his head on his shoulder, and takes a deep breath; he’s so tired of crying, after yesterday and the day before and everything, but somehow, the tears keep coming. “I didn’t—I didn’t know it was going to come up again. Ever. Not… not like this.”

Viktor’s arms settle around him, warm and solid and soothing, and Yuuri sinks into him, craving comfort. “I know. I know. When you told me, we never thought—even in our wildest dreams, we never thought it would come to this. That’s actually—it’s why I was glad, originally, that you weren’t here when Kolya told me about Masha. He _doesn’t_ know—as far as I know, you only ever told me?”

“I don’t remember telling anyone,” Yuuri whispers into his neck, “so that must be right.”

“Oh, Yuuri,” Viktor breathes. “You don’t have to carry this alone. I’m here now. I’ve got you.”

“I’m scared,” Yuuri blurts out, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m scared that we’re gonna get caught and they’ll just wipe my memories _again_ before I even know what they took the first time, and I’m scared of what they’ll do outside because they’ve been—they _did_ all of that, every single thing—they killed my _parents,_ Vitya—”

“I know, I know, I know.” Viktor rocks him back and forth, gentle and soothing, and rubs his back. “I know, Yuuri, it’s absolutely horrific. I know. Shhhh. I’ve got you.”

Yuuri sniffles. “I’m not crying.”

“I know.” Viktor’s smiling again, he can hear it. It’s a sadder, smaller smile than before. “But you don’t need to be crying for me to want to comfort you.”

Yuuri hesitates, takes a shaky breath, and sniffles again. “They… they told my parents they couldn’t come in. They _have_ the cure, b-but they didn’t give it to them, and th-they took me away, and… Vitya?”

Viktor gives him a squeeze and rests his chin atop his head. Yuuri feels tiny and protected and safe. “I’m here.”

“I don’t want them to take me away from anyone else again,” Yuuri manages, clutching at his shirt. “I don’t know you, but I feel like I do, and I want to know you again, and I want my memories back and I want all of this to _stop_ and I’m s-so scared, I don’t want them touching me again, I d-don’t want them taking people away from me again and not letting me say _g-goodbye_ , and… and…”

“Oh, Yuuri…”

Viktor strokes his hair, rubs his back, and holds him tight. Yuuri clings to him, face tucked into the warm skin of his neck. Why does he feel safe here? Why does he want to automatically believe all of Viktor’s gentle words and soft reassurances? Why does he feel safe? Why, why, why?

“I promise you, no matter what happens,” Viktor murmurs, and then his voice drops to something lower, more intent: “As long as I live, nothing will ever, _ever_ stop me from finding you.”

The words hit home with the force of a bullet. Yuuri sniffles again, louder this time, and feels hot tears well up in his eyes as he lifts his head, looking up at Viktor plaintively. “R-really?”

Viktor kisses his forehead, something pained in his eyes. “Yes. Really. I swear to you.”

Yuuri is quiet. How long has it been since someone has kissed his forehead like that? He… it was probably Chris, when he kissed him weeks ago, and before that…

Before that, probably nobody. Nobody that he can remember. Not since his mother.

“Vitya?”

Viktor strokes his thumb over the ridges in Yuuri’s spine. “Yes?”

“Are you scared, too?”

Viktor sighs deeply. He’s quiet, pensive, for several seconds, but he doesn’t loosen his embrace, and Yuuri can feel his heart beating. It’s soothing, so he concentrates on it, like an anchor holding him firm amidst a raging storm. “Yes, Yuuri. I’m scared I could lose you all over again. I don’t want them to hurt you.”

“You’re not scared of what they could do to you?” Yuuri asks very quietly, very still in his arms.

Viktor shrugs one shoulder. “Whatever they want to do to me in the future can’t hurt more than what they already did. The only way they could get to me now would be by hurting you.”

Oh. Shit. Right. His husband. They killed his husband. Is Yuuri the only person Viktor has left? He has Nikolai, and Yuri, but he’s not letting them in—at least not as far as Yuuri can see—and he must be grieving, though he acts like he’s not.

A chill runs through him. There must have been a time when he knew Viktor’s tells, could see whether he was hiding his sorrows or being genuine, but right now all he has to go on is whatever gut instincts he has, and his intuition. He doesn’t _know._

Hesitating for several seconds, he finally lifts his head from Viktor’s shoulder and looks up at him, one hand coming up to tentatively touch his cheek. “And… but… How are you holding up?”

A flicker of a smile crosses Viktor’s face, but it doesn’t seem right. The tiny part of Yuuri’s subconscious that seems to remember screams _sad sad sad,_ and Yuuri frowns instinctively as Viktor shrugs again. “I’m alright. Thank you for asking, Yuuri.”

“I don’t believe you,” Yuuri blurts out without quite meaning to.

They stare at each other for a long moment. A thrill of fear zings through Yuuri’s stomach—was that the wrong thing to say? Is Viktor going to be mad that he’s just accused him of lying? Was he just wrong to begin with?—just before Viktor huffs out a quiet laugh.

“So I still can’t fool you, can I,” he muses, shaking his head. “I’ve never been able to. Not even from day one.”

“You’re dodging the question,” Yuuri says softly, though he files that bit of information away to mull over later. “How are you, Vitya? Is it… your husband?”

Viktor flinches as if struck. Guilt punches Yuuri in the stomach. “I—”

“Sorry! Sorry sorry I shouldn’t have said that—sorry,” Yuuri frets, flinging his arms around his neck and hugging him tight. His heart is pounding so hard he’s almost afraid it’ll beat out of his chest. He can’t hurt Viktor he can’t lose Viktor he needs Viktor he needs him! “Sorry. Sorry. Please don’t be mad.”

Viktor clings to him for several seconds, and his voice is very tiny, when it eventually comes. “I’m not mad.”

Yuuri bites his lip. “You’re sad?”

“Yeah.” Viktor breathes out. “I miss him. But. He’s… he’s gone. So I can’t—it’s not—we have to look forward, not back, or—”

“But what if they just took him and made it look like he’s gone?” Yuuri presses, rubbing his back. “He might still be alive, Vitya. We can look for him, somehow, and maybe—”

“No,” Viktor cuts in raggedly. “He’s _gone,_ Yuuri, I _know_ he’s gone. He—they didn’t keep him somewhere. They took him and they—they—”

“Shit,” Yuuri breathes. “Shh, you don’t have to say it, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for bringing it up. It’s—it’s, well, not… okay? But. But uh. I’m sorry.”

“Can we _please_ talk about something else,” Viktor begs, head bowed and hands fisted in Yuuri’s sweater. “I just—I can’t think about it. Please? I… I have to keep looking forward or else I’ll…. I’ll just… We can’t afford to have me shut down right now, please…”

“Yeah, yeah, of course, yes,” Yuuri stammers in a rush. “Um. Other things. Today Mila stole one of Yura’s hair clips and he yelled for seven full minutes when he noticed. It was one of the clips I gave him, and he had to pretend he didn’t care about it when I asked what the big fuss was. So. That was funny? Kind of?”

A wan smile flickers across Viktor’s face. “Yeah. I miss those kids. Are Mila and Kenjirou doing alright?”

“They are.” Yuuri smiles back, finally pulling back from that desperate hug and just sitting next to him, so that their sides are pressed together. “Once everything is sorted out, I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you again.”

“I doubt that,” Viktor says quietly, shaking his head. “They probably won’t recognize me. But that’s alright. I’ll just have to make new memories with everyone. Once everything is sorted out.”

“Or that,” Yuuri agrees. He bites his lip again and looks at the floor, wondering if it’s worth arguing that there _has_ to be a way to restore everyone’s stolen memories. He has to believe there’s a way. If he has to live with the weight of knowing that some strangers were there, rifling around in his head, stealing what they wanted to steal, and that he’ll never know what he lost, he thinks he might die from the stress of it. He can’t live like that. Not knowing would kill him.

“It’ll be fine.” Viktor blows out a sigh. Yuuri isn’t sure which of them he’s trying to convince. “It’ll all be fine.”

He slumps sideways, head finding Yuuri’s shoulder, and Yuuri absently leans his cheek against his hair, sighing. The enormity of everything they’re swept up in—the sheer size of the Aetherium, the number of people who don’t remember Viktor, everything—hits him again like a freight train, and he could shrink in on himself until he disappears just out of the fear of it all. It’s so much.

Yuuri takes in a shaky breath. He can’t let himself be overwhelmed all the time, but it’s hard. “Oh, Vitya… what are we going to do?”

Viktor takes his hand. “I have an idea,” he says slowly, “but you aren’t going to like it.”

Yuuri’s stomach flip-flops itself into a knot of anxiety again, but he’s getting used to living in a constant state of terror, so he manages to ignore it and snort. “I don’t like anything about this already. Try me.”

Viktor sighs again and rubs his thumb over Yuuri’s knuckles. “I think,” he says, “that we need to leave Dawnsmere.”

Yuuri blinks.

Blinks again.

And then the visceral, raw terror hits. “Wait, _what?!”_

_Leave Dawnsmere?_ But there’s nothing but wastelands out there, and the silver plague could sweep through at any time, and all the desolate little villages are vulnerable and not safe and full of people who you _can’t_ get attached to, ever, in case they all die and leave you alone in the wilderness with nothing and no one, and—

“Yuuri? Oh, solnyshko, stay with me,” Viktor’s voice cuts into his frantic thoughts, pulling him back to reality. What’s that word? He’s said it twice now. Is that a nickname Yuuri doesn’t remember? It must be. Strange. How is it that he can focus on nicknames and stupid things like that when Viktor wants to leave this safe haven and—

Wait.

Dawnsmere is no safe haven. What is he thinking?

“Yuuri?” Viktor cups his face, touches his cheek. “Hey. Hey, are you okay? Can you hear me?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri rasps, and then he realizes that _oh,_ he’s panicking, having trouble breathing, and maybe about to just keel over and die because that’s about his luck, probably. “Fuck.”

“Breathe with me,” Viktor instructs, and then he takes Yuuri’s hand and draws it to his chest, so that Yuuri can feel his heartbeat and the rise and fall of his chest as he inhales and exhales, slow and steady.

In… and out. In… and out.

“That’s it, that’s good.” Viktor gives him a small, encouraging smile. “There you go. Yeah. You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry.” Yuuri rubs the back of his head with a shaky hand, feeling stupid and sheepish. Dawnsmere isn’t safe, no matter what his stupid initial jolt of panic thinks. Dawnsmere is the lion’s den. “You… you’re right. I mean. So long as everything stays within the city, they can control who knows anything, it looks like. So. So it makes sense, I just…”

“I know you hate it,” Viktor murmurs, settling a hand on his shoulder. Yuuri sags against him, suddenly exhausted and afraid. “I know. I’m sorry, solnyshko. I wish it was still possible for me to keep you safe here, but…”

“You keep calling me that,” Yuuri blurts out, latching onto something (anything) other than the concept of walking back out of those towering gates. “Is it… Rusichi? What does it mean?”

Viktor freezes. “Oh—did I? Ah. I, um… it’s an old nickname I gave you. Rusichi, yes. My family was from Rusich, before they moved to Dawnsmere.”

“Oh.” Yuuri sits quietly for a moment, then looks up at him. “What does it mean?”

“Sunshine,” Viktor says, and before Yuuri can process that, he flushes and adds, “I started calling you that at the Academy, when we lived together. Because you were never a morning person, so I just—it was a joke, and it just stuck?”

A tiny laugh manages to bubble up in Yuuri’s chest. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

Viktor nods, face still pink (it’s oddly endearing, the way his blush reaches his ears), and then takes Yuuri’s hand again. “Do you… want to talk about what I said a minute ago, though? About… where to go from here?”

Yuuri bites his lip. “We probably should talk about that, yeah.”

“Okay,” Viktor says, and squeezes his hand. “I’ll make some tea, and we’ll figure everything out.”

“We will?” Yuuri asks.

Viktor offers him a tiny smile and a resolute nod.

“Yes,” he says. “We will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay!!!! 
> 
> 1\. no art this chapter because riki's had some medical issues, and eventually we agreed i'd just post the chapter and when they can add art, we'll edit.
> 
> 2\. i'll be Actually trying to keep an update schedule now; i've been figuring some things out about this fic and what i want to be working on, so tentatively biweekly (i'm going to aim for wednesdays bc those were trfl day but that might change), i'll be updating. pls prod me if i don't i won't mind and it motivates me to know someone cares kdjhjk
> 
> next time: the tiny flame of hope might keep you warm, but its flickering light might be visible to more than just your eyes.


End file.
